Work Text:
Fakir was a wreck.
He had found himself sitting alone at a park bench, cursing himself out in his frustration. It was night, and the only light illuminating the area was a single walkway lamp. Fakir had come here to enjoy the atmosphere and clear his head, maybe even find inspiration, but it wasn’t working. His writings were sprawled out all over his lap and ground.
As Fakir berated himself, the wind blew on his papers as they skidded across the park paths.
She was across the walkway. A stray paper reached her feet, prompting her to pick up the lonely parchment. She, Ahiru, always went on a stroll through the park after buying goods from the bakery that sat on the street before. She never saw anyone else go to the park at night, except for a man who would frequently sit on the same bench by the pond. They had never said hello to each other, but would instead exchange wordless eye contact from time to time, silently agreeing to keep the peaceful night quiet.
Ahiru eyed the paper within her hand, and then glanced up. There he was, the mysterious bench man. He looked…distraught. The man seemed to be whisper-yelling frustrations to himself, contorted and bended over by his own distress. Frankly, it was hard to watch. Ahiru looked back at the paper in her hand, and began to read it.
Fakir was so deep inside his own head that the world around him simply disappeared. But, the sound of gentle footsteps grounded him back into reality. He took his hands out of his face and looked up; the corner of his eye caught the glimpse of a muffin next to him on the bench. Fakir looked around him for an explanation, when he heard a voice.
“I like this story.”
He jumped, if only for a millisecond, and turned to see a young woman with bright blue eyes and salmon red hair. The same woman he almost always saw on his visits to the park at night. Fakir looked at what she was holding and began to blush.
“It’s just a silly draft, it’s nothing.”
“Nothing!? A blank page would be nothing.”
She was right, but he was no more confident.
Ahiru continued, “Is it supposed to be a fairy tale? I must admit I’m a sucker for those,” she giggled, “do you like blueberry?” Ahiru pointed to the muffin besides him.
“That’s yours? I shouldn’t…”
She shook her head, “Have it! I’m actually not a big fan of blueberry, I must’ve ordered it by mistake.”
Fakir began to unwrap the baked delight, and Ahiru found a spot beside him on the bench and began to unpack her own muffin.
“How do you accidentally order a blueberry muffin?”
“I space out a lot…” she blushed, “I probably misspoke. With how clumsy i am, anything is possible; I once got a job at a pizzeria by accident!”
Fakir softly chuckled, and Ahiru had to admit it was one of the most charming sounds she ever heard.
“And how did you do that one, exactly?”
“It’s a long story…”
“I can listen. I like long stories, just not tragic ones.”
“If you count my embarrassment as tragedy, this story is full of it,” she laughed, and he did too.
For about an hour, they talked as Ahiru recounted her embarrassing stories. After realizing how late it became, the two strangers parted ways.
———
Mytho had invited Fakir out for drinks. It was somewhat tradition for them to have a conversation over iced tea, and today Mytho decided to talk about Rue. He went on and on about his various ideas of what to do for their anniversary, and Fakir mostly listened, even if he didn’t really care for the topic. He remained quiet, until Mytho unfortunately decided to ask the question he always did:
“Anyone caught your eye yet?”
Of course, Fakir always answered the question the same way, which was vehemently rejecting the idea entirely. But today, he found himself hesitating.
He thought of blue eyes, red hair, and freckles. He realized that he never caught her name. He shook his thoughts away.
“No.”
Mytho tilted his head, and considered his friend— best friend—who he had known for over a decade. Of course, he could tell something was up.
“Hmm…it looked like you were thinking about someone.”
Fakir shot him a glare, “what are you even saying?”
Mytho smiled softly, “are you sure there’s no one?”
Fakir frowned and looked away, and then, if by fate, he saw her. She had just exited a nearby shop, and was now walking towards them. Why did they have to sit outside? Fakir mentally slapped himself.
“Hi!” She simply waved and smiled at him as she passed by, and he offered her a small nod. She seemed like she wanted to say more, but she caught sight of Mytho and didn’t want to interrupt, so she left.
“Who was that?”
Fakir sighed, he didn’t miss the smugness within Mytho’s voice.
“A stranger.”
“A…stranger? You seemed to know each other to me.”
“Fine, an acquaintance that I don’t even know the name of. Is that better?”
Mytho was perplexed. “How do you know her, exactly?”
Fakir shifted in his seat and looked for the best answer he could give.
“She usually visits the park at night, the same time I do. It’s easy to recognize someone if no one else is there,” Fakir snapped out of his memory and sent a small look to Mytho, “That’s it.”
Mytho smiled.
———
“I never got your name last time, what is it?”
“Fakir. I know, it’s a funny name.”
“I bet mine is funnier. I’m Ahiru!”
She had seen him again, on the same bench hunched over new piles of paper. Fakir attempted to act as his usual aloof self, but couldn’t restrain the way his eyes gently lit up at the sight of her approach.
“Working on another story?”
“It’s the same one, actually.”
“May I read it?”
Fakir’s friends had asked many time to see his works in progress. But that wasn’t ever something he was willing to share. However…she was a stranger, so wouldn’t it be ok?
She read it and smiled, and whatever worry had manifested in Fakir’s stomach melted. “I love it!” she remarked and quickly glanced down the street.
“I have to go now, see you later!” She abruptly left, and handed him back the story. He glanced the papers over, and didn’t expect more writing to be added to it.
It was a simple ten-digit number.
———
Could he still consider her a stranger when he had her number? Could he still call her a stranger when he was already drafting a text message to her? Not to mention one that he had already spent half an hour erasing and rewording. He resolved to send a simple, “It’s Fakir.”
It was only a few seconds before he got a response.
Ahiru: Hey!
Ahiru: I was starting to think you didn’t see it lol :)
Now he didn’t know what to do. He knew he started a conversation, but for what reason? Why would he when there was nothing he wanted to say specifically? In the midst of his inner turmoil, she continued typing.
Ahiru: It’s nice to have your number! Now I don’t have to wait for a chance encounter at the park to see any updates to the story :D were you able to continue it yet?
He scrambled to pick up his phone.
Fakir: I have, actually. Why don’t I send you a link to the document? You can see how the previous drafts I shared with you were cleaned up.
Ahiru: Sounds great!
He sent her the link and flopped over onto his bed. Fakir rarely showed people his drafts, and he had never sent links to his story documents to anyone outside of his editor and publishers before. And why, oh why, was his heart rate increasing? Then she sent him an image.
[image attachment]
Ahiru: use this for my little profile picture thingy!
It was a cute little ducking. Fitting, he thought.
Fakir: sure. I don’t really care what you put me in as.
Ahiru: cool, I’m going to make you a sparrow :)
Fakir: why?
Ahiru: you kinda remind me of one. They are hard-working and adorable!
Adorable. He wasn’t sure if Ahiru was aware of the fact that she just compared him to something she considered adorable, but it made his mind reel nonetheless.
Could he still consider her a stranger, when she already found a way to wriggle herself into his life?