Work Text:
Maia Tamarin thought she could never grow tired of the sunsets in the capital. Every day, she would come to lounge on the pier, her hands caught in her embroidery and her feet dangling back-and-forth over the water. There was something about the chalky white ribbon strewn over the waves, the very colors that painted the horizon, that couldn't quite compare to those in Port Kamalan.
Still, she couldn't help but feel a little homesick. Baba had to be closing up the shop around this time, while Mama would finish setting up the table. She could only imagine what her brothers were up to, since they left for work just as she had. While her brothers had washed their hands of any needlework, Baba had given her a modest sum to expand their business in the capital. There, she had been able to buy a small lot wedged between a busy street and the sea. To think that if she were born hundreds of years ago, she would have never been allowed to leave in the first place.
Maia scrunched her nose at the cloth in her hand, tightening her grip around the embroidery hoop. For weeks, she had plagued with the idea of a shadowy figure surrounded by stars. She hated working people into fabric—she could never get their faces right—but no matter how much she agonized over the line of his nose or the curve of his eyes, she was a woman possessed.
Time passed. She had unfastened her braid in frustration, letting her hair flow freely past her shoulders. Instead of focusing on the man, she decided to work on the pattern around him. She went to grab a spool from the basket beside her, but she had been too distracted, and it slipped from her fingertips. The spool left behind a thin red trail as it rolled down the pier, until it was stopped by a man with his shoe.
Maia blinked at him, his dark hair falling into curls around his face as he bent to retrieve the spool. His nose was crooked, suggesting he had gotten into his fair share of scrapes, and his eyes were as blue as the water beside them. Although he had a glint that promised mischief, it struck her with a sense of familiarity most of all.
She averted her gaze, and he smiled broadly. She hoped it didn't mean he caught her staring.
"Careful," he said, offering the spool in his palm. "The next one might jump into the sea."
"I'll keep that in mind." She picked up the spool and returned her attention to her work, thinking that would be the end of it, but the man seemed to linger.
"Lovely view you have here." He craned his head. "May I sit beside you?"
She put down the hoop. "Only if you'll introduce yourself." If she had met such a persistent man before, she would have definitely remembered him.
"One can have many names. Most call me Edan." He sat down. "Fancy myself a wandering musician and perhaps a bit of a magician." He pulled a blue wildflower from his sleeve, every movement giving the impression of a shadow.
She cautiously took it from his hand. "So you're some kind of troublemaker then."
"Harsh. I'll have you know that I never want for anything." He crossed his arms behind his head. "All I do is travel, and I just happen to be passing through."
"Then I suppose you'll be going soon." She was suddenly hit with the thought that she didn't want him to leave. Absurd, considering he was a stranger.
"Perhaps I'll stay for a little while longer." He nodded at the cloth. "I'm curious as to what you're working on, and you still have yet to tell me your name."
"If you must know, it's a handkerchief," she said, "and my name is Maia." She tried to reason away her feelings. At most, she might need him to model for the man. When he was sitting so close to her, she could almost pick out all the lines and angles she needed.
He looked up from the cloth to her face. "It's beautiful," he said.
A blush stole across her cheeks. Whether it was from the compliment, or having to endure the full force of his gaze, she wasn't certain. Briefly, she wondered if he meant to imply something more, but those hopes were dashed with his next words: "You don't happen to be a tailor, do you?"
She cleared her throat. "I am. I actually opened a shop here last week." She gestured to the building behind them and then looked down at the flower he gave her. "Would you like to have it? The handkerchief, I mean. When it's done, of course." Really, he was making her say the strangest things.
He pursued his lips. "That hardly seems fair."
His company, as well as the inspiration he gave her, was fair enough, although she did not dare to admit it. She pointed at the wooden flute protruding from his pocket. "Then play me a song. Consider it a trade of one work for another."
"Alright, then." He spun the flute before placing it to his lips. "I'll make a song just for you."
He played until the sun dipped past the horizon and the stars rose to the sky. Though Edan would leave as abruptly as he came, somehow Maia knew it would be just one of their many encounters.