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“Luca, what’s this letter?”
Luca’s head pops up around the corner of Noah’s office, pencil wound tightly into his hair as always and expression inquiring.
“This letter was on my desk.” Noah waves it at his assistant. “It’s, ah… Pink.”
“It is Valentine’s Day, Mr Krier,” Luca offers, but he looks confused by the presence of the letter as well, and sorting through Noah’s letters is part of his job. “I definitely would have remembered seeing that, though, and I didn’t.”
Noah eyes the soft pink envelope, on which his name is written in an unfamiliar, spindly longhand. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything in it but paper, so he reckons he could open it without risk.
“Thank you anyway, Luca, never mind it.”
The man is definitely pulling an amused face as he turns and walks back to his desk just outside. Noah shakes his head after him before leaning against his own desk, crossing his legs at the ankles, and grabbing the letter opener to rip the little envelope open.
Out comes a letter in the same handwriting on thin, plain white paper, with an elaborate, honestly quite beautiful, pen drawing of thorny roses around the words.
Noah—
I should forewarn
Though you surely see
Not unlike me
These roses have thorns
The day is still young
There’s much to be seen
Places to be
And rhymes yet unsung
Noah stares at the poem, reading it three times. It doesn’t make it any clearer. The loops on the letters are long but neat, and the lines themselves are perfectly straight, and none of it helps. Is this a prank? It must be a prank, mustn’t it? Surely, no one would go through the trouble of writing a poem for him seriously?
He’s still busy doing that, when Luca pops his head in again.
“I hate to interrupt, but we should get going if we want to make the ten o’clock, Mr Krier.”
“Yes—yes, of course.” Noah quickly fumbles the letter back into its envelope and shoves it into his briefcase.
“Love letter?” Luca asks teasingly as they walk to the elevator, because for all that he’s great at being a professional assistant, he’s also Noah’s friend and a horribly nosey person.
“I’m not actually sure,” he replies. The poem isn’t necessarily romantic, but Luca was right, it is Valentine’s Day, and then there’s the pink paper… The roses… “It’s strange. I think it’s a prank.”
Luca nods, pulling a quasi-impressed face, and Noah smiles.
They reach the ground floor of the building, and after quickly checking with the receptionist that there aren’t any more messages—or poems, as it were—, make their way to the car waiting outside.
The driver, Simão, nearly jumps against the roof when Noah opens the passenger side door. He raises his eyebrows, shaking his hair out of his face.
“Alright there?”
“You scared me. Good morning, Noah. Luca.”
Luca flashes a smile from the backseat. Simão rakes his fingers through his dark hair a couple of times, fidgets with the clutch.
“What is it?” Noah asks, watching him with half an eye. “Do you want to leave earlier because you’ve got a date? Because I’ve told you before, I’m terrified of your girlfriend, so you can leave whenever you want.”
“What, no—I mean, I appreciate that. I think.” He blinks, finally starts the car, and pulls away from the building. Luca types busily on his phone. Noah, who can’t do anything useful in traffic because of his motion sickness, watches Simão with suspicion.
He’s known him for a long time, and his driver has always been a bit of an odd one, but this is strange even for him. He doesn’t say anything else about it, though. Who knows, maybe the guy’s planning to ask his terrifying girlfriend to marry him or something like that, and he’s nervous about that.
However, when they reach the house Noah is supposed to look at and see if it can be sold, and Luca has already leaped out of the car as if he’s twelve and not 23, Simão tells Noah to wait a minute.
“Hm?”
“There’s something… Uh, check the glove box.”
Frowning, Noah does so, and there’s another pink envelope in there, lying innocuously on a box of mints. He looks back at Simão, who holds both hands out defensively.
“It’s not from me! This dude came up and handed it to me, said to give it to you. It just seemed so weird.”
As he examines the envelope—same paper, same thin handwriting—Noah considers this information.
“What did that man look like?”
Simão shrugs apologetically. “He was wearing a scarf and had his hood up. Tall, though, maybe even taller than you. He had a red bike.” He shivers. “Way too cold to bike.”
Luca knocks on the window of the car, jumping up and down outside and pulling an impatient face. Simão laughs, and Noah quickly stuffs the envelope into the inner pocket of his woolen coat.
“Thank you, Simão. We’ll be back soon.”
The driver wink cheerfully, apparently not nervous anymore, and Noah shakes his head while opening his door and walking over to Luca and the current owner of the house.
“Apologies for the hold-up, ma’am.”
A while later, having gotten lunch down the street and walking back to the company’s building, he remembers the envelope, and then it suddenly seems to be burning a hole through his coat.
“Are you okay, Mr Krier?” Luca asks from next to him, somehow eating at the same time. It’s kind of morbidly impressive.
“I got another one of those letters,” he says faintly. “Simão gave it to me.”
That does make his assistant look up.
“What does it say?” he asks, sounding almost excited.
“I… Don’t know.”
That makes Luca halt his step in the middle of stairs to the doors of the building.
“I haven’t looked yet!” Noah says defensively, in response to his almost accusing look.
“Well, look,” Luca urges.
“In a minute!”
Luca is laughing at him, Noah’s sure, as they walk to the elevator and ascend to Noah’s office, and then he’s sitting down on Noah’s desk, thin legs swinging back and forth.
“Sometimes I don’t remember why I hired you,” Noah tells him, but Luca just grins, so he fishes the envelope out of his pocket. It’s a little wrinkled, but the text on the paper that comes out is perfectly legible.
Noah—
Don’t be alarmed
I mean you no harm
I just want to say
On this certain day
I am fascinated
And often captivated
In more than one way
You make me gay
Noah reads the text again, eyes the little envelopes drawn around the edges of the paper. No, this is too bad, it has to be a prank. That, or someone actually really likes him and isn’t afraid to be embarrass themselves like this. Himself, probably, if that’s what the gay line is referring to.
“Well?” Luca asks, and Noah is speechless, so he just hands his assistant the letter, watching as his eyes widen.
“See?”
“Well, that’s… Something,” he says, seemingly unable to stop looking at the piece of paper. “What do you think?”
“Honestly, Luca, I don’t know.” He takes the letter back, smoothes it out, and puts it on his desk, laying the first one down next to it. “If it’s genuine, it’s… It’s so weird it’s sweet, really, but Simão described the man who gave the second one to him, and it could very well be my brother, so it could also be a prank.”
“Your brother plays pranks?” Luca seems surprised.
“Don’t all siblings?”
“Well, I mean, my brother definitely does, but you know Dragos a little, and he’s just weird. Your brother always seems so serious.”
Noah smiles, because he knows that’s exactly what Luca thought of him at first, a couple of years ago.
“Believe me, Maarten and Manon are a terrifying team.”
“That’s definitely true,” Luca says faintly.
Unsure how to proceed with this, Noah claps his hands and announces that it’s about time they got back to work, giving Luca a push when he lingers by the desk, chewing on his lip. That’s odd, really. Luca is a forward person, which Noah deeply appreciates about him, yet now it seems he’s hesitant to tell him something. He figures that he’ll find out if it’s important. For now, he works through his normal messages, and it isn’t until three in the afternoon that the routine is disrupted again.
“Mr Krier?”
Noah looks up at Luca, who is standing in the doorway to the office with his hands clasped behind his back and his hair escaping from its ponytail as if he’s been messing with it.
“Yes?”
“Message for you.” He steps into the room.
The emphasis on the word message alerts Noah, and he stands up to take the pink envelope from his assistant.
“The receptionist said a woman handed it to her downstairs. Tall woman, she said, with light hair.”
That could be Manon, Noah reckons. His whole family is tall, and although her hair is darker than his, it could still qualify as light. Light brown, at least.
He opens the envelope nonetheless, as Luca hovers curiously.
Noah—
You must think me strange
To have this arranged
And that may be true
But that’s what I do
I think it could be
More than a dream
If you give me a chance
This could be romance
“That’s it,” Noah says. “I’m calling my siblings.”
“Why?” Luca, who has read the letter from next to him and huffed an exasperated laugh at the text and the tree drawn in the background in sure pencil lines, asks. Noah knows nothing about trees, but it looks like one you could sit under without getting wet even in a storm. It looks certain, steady.
He dials Manon’s number, then presses his lips together irritably when she doesn’t answer and the call goes right to voicemail.
“Maarten, then,” he mutters, ignoring the bemused look Luca is giving him. He needs to get to the bottom of this. Somewhere, he wants it to be a prank, but he also really doesn’t, flattered that someone would go to such lengths for him.
Maarten picks up the phone with a hello. “Noah.”
“Yes, Maarten, I’m—”
“Before you go on, I got… Well, I got a message for you, apparently.” He sounds bewildered. Noah blinks.
“A message?”
“Yeah, I got a letter delivered at work addressed to you. I think it’s a poem?”
Luca is now obviously trying to stifle laughter, muffling snorts into his hands. Noah swipes his hair out of his face brusquely and glares at him.
“That’s what I’m calling about, actually,” he tells his brother, aware that he sounds just as confused now. And, when his brother makes a confused noise, barely audible over the background noise of his workshop, “Never mind that. What’s the message?”
A rustle of paper. Maarten clearing his throat. Luca snorts into his hand again.
“Noah—
If you hear this
You must have doubts
But nothing’s amiss
You’re what I’m about”
Noah blinks. “That’s it?”
“Yes. Were you expecting more?”
“Kind of.” He shakes his head and swipes his hair away again. “Who did you say delivered it to you?”
“I didn’t. And I have no idea, one of my employees handed it to me.”
“Right. Alright.”
He sounds honestly confused about the situation, and Noah likes to think he’s known Maarten long enough to tell when he’s acting, even when he can’t see him.
“Well, do you think it could have been Manon?”
Maarten laughs. “Sure. It wouldn’t be the first time she pulled something like that. We still have to get her back so much.”
Noah shoots Luca a significant look, at which the man rolls his eyes, and then he thanks Maarten, saying he’ll call their sister and hopefully find out more about this.
“You know, I believe you now,” Luca comments while he scrolls through his phone to find Manon’s number. “Your siblings are just as weird as my brother.”
“Maybe not quite that weird,” Noah replies, because he’s met Dragos Bălan, and the guy was great but also the most eccentric person ever.
Finding Manon’s number, he tries it again, and this time, she answers quickly, cheerful as always.
“Hi, Noah! I saw you called just now, but this telemarketer was trying to talk me into getting a subscription to razors or something. What’s up?”
“Razors? Why would—sorry, I’m calling about the poems, Manon.”
“The poems? There’s more than one?”
Confused, Noah doesn’t reply, and Manon continues.
“I got an email to my blog address. It said to relay a message to you if you called. It’s a poem.”
“Of course it is,” he sighs. “Well, let’s have it, then.”
A laugh, then, “And if you feel
That way about me
Let’s make a deal
Under the linden tree”
“The linden tree?” Noah groans. It just keeps getting weirder. Manon just laughs again, teasingly, and he can just imagine how she looks, with her mouth pulled up in that familiar mischievous smile.
“Have you got a secret admirer, Noah?”
“Shut up,” he replies, and then he hangs up when his sister just keeps laughing at him. He pushes the hand still holding his phone through his hair, now just even more confused. If it isn’t a prank, at least by his siblings, then what? Someone evidently knows a lot about him, and, “Isn’t this creepy?”
“I don’t know,” Luca replies. “Not necessarily. You’re a public figure, you know, and everyone knows your family.”
Noah sits down heavily on the edge of his desk, trying to figure out if his ‘secret admirer’ has left any clues as to his identity. He’s a man, apparently, and what is that about the linden tree?
“Luca, you know things about poetry. What connotations does the linden tree have?”
“Many.” He shifts from one foot to another, turns his phone over between restless fingers, and grins awkwardly when Noah frowns. “Noah, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course?” It must be something personal if he’s calling him by his first name during work hours. He’s always maintained the weird distinction between Noah and Mr Krier.
“What do you think of the person who wrote these? Are they creepy?”
Considering this—with some amount of suspicion, because what is Luca getting at?—Noah chews on his lower lip. Like his assistant said, all the information used wouldn’t be terribly hard to figure out with some determination, nothing untoward was written in the poems, and the writer seems aware that he’s being strange, but that’s just who he is, apparently.
“No, I think he’s sweet, in some odd way,” he replies, and Luca’s expression shifts to the strangest mix between relieved, pained and amused.
“I guess that’s one way to describe it.” He laughs a helpless laugh. “Figures.”
Noah shakes his head at him in confusion.
“The linden tree is an important symbol in many Slavic countries,” Luca explains. And, with a deep breath, “As well as in the Romanian-speaking ones.”
“The Ro… Luca, for god’s sake, you’re the only Romanian-speaking person that I know! Don’t tell me you—”
“No!” He holds both hands out. “No offense, but no.”
“Then who…”
It dawns on him when he searches Luca’s guilt-stricken grey eyes.
“Your brother? Did you know?”
He shrugs in apology. “Not until I saw the handwriting.”
Groaning, Noah collapses onto his back on his desk, swinging his legs out in a manner unbefitting of his position or his age. Luca’s brother. He must have gotten his schedule for the day from Luca somehow, without Luca knowing. True, Noah liked Dragos when he met him, but he barely knows the man when it comes down to it, and he’s sure Dragos barely knows him in turn. And yet, and yet. He’s genuine about this, if Luca is to be believed.
“What do you think he expects me to do?” he asks the man, sitting up.
“Who knows with him, really. He’s way too impulsive for his own good.”
“Maybe not.” He swallows. “Give me his phone number?”
“You’re both as bad as each other,” Luca says, but he sounds thoroughly amused and turns his phone screen towards Noah so he can copy Dragos’s numbers. “I hope you’ll be very happy. Also, can I leave earlier? I’ve got a date.”
Noah just stares at him.
An hour later, Luca has gone home to prepare for his date, and Noah is staring at the new contact in his phone. He’s tempted to send the elder Bălan a poem back, but, maybe fortunately, Maarten used up all the poetic talent in the family, and he isn’t that shameless even if Dragos is.
In the end, he receives a message from the number.
Luca is a traitor. I hope I didn’t creep you out, but he says it’s fine.
Dragos
Deciding to act on his impulses for once, Noah presses the call button instead of texting back.
“Hello?” comes the voice he vaguely remembers, with the hoarse note to it and the same lilt that Luca has.
“I’d say Luca is a very good assistant,” Noah says, and smiles at the skyline of the city outside of his office when Dragos laughs at that, easily and openly.
“He’s a great kid, but a terrible brother.”
Noah wets his lips, takes a deep breath, and tries to think of something to say, but he’s forestalled.
“I really hope you don’t think I’m creepy.” Some creaking and rustling. Noah imagines Dragos fidgeting. “I mean, a lot of people would argue that I am, but not in the stalkerish way, I promise.”
“I don’t think that,” Noah assures him. “Maybe a little strange, but aren’t we all?”
A chuckle. He smiles.
“Dragos,” he says, the name sounding like a thrill.
“Hmm?”
“I’m not sure if there are any lindens around here, but I’d like to meet you somewhere.”
A pause, then a reply in a tone that sounds more unsure than anything so far.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Noah smiles, glad he’s not the only one out of his depth. “Yeah, I’d really like that. You seem like an interesting man, I’d like to get to know you. Plus, I know from experience embarrassing one’s siblings is a great pastime, and I happen to know where your brother is now. He’s on a date.”
“I knew I made a good decision,” Dragos says, grin obvious in his voice. “I can’t wait.”