run out to meet me.
Hasibe hasn't, as she told Henry, been on an actual date for quite some time; the social outings she's been on with men before haven't really properly constituted anything like this, and while it might not be terribly modern to admit as much, she's sort of pleased with the whole idea. It's sweet, and real, with all the feelings of anticipation and some nervousness attached; she's glad, briefly, that she's not too jaded for this, because while some people might find it a good state to be in, Hasi has been there and much prefers the flutter of excitement, wondering if she should let her hair down (she leaves it in a high swinging ponytail instead, and if it gets tugged at some point in the evening, playfully, she won't mind), if she should wear one dress or the other.
What she settles on is a halter dress with a knee-length patterned skirt and black top, the collar folded neatly over her collarbones and paired with blue heels. It'll work, but she puts a jacket over it, conscientious of the fact that although she might be relatively keen on showing off, Boston weather is not going to make her any promises. She checks her hair, checks her make-up, realizes she has about five minutes left to wait, and forces herself to sit, quietly, in a chair, instead of watching at the window like a sixteen-year-old girl. She is going to have a good time tonight - without thinking of Hyde and his bruising affection, who sometimes enters her thoughts unbidden, even when she is with Henry, who can occasionally remind her of him in ways she chalks up to simple coincidence - and just be happy. The idea delights her, as complicated as she knows it really is.
It's still reasonably sunny out, though, so she fetches sunglasses.
Then she sits and waits.
(And tries very hard to remember to be good, once he shows up. No tempting, right? Not on purpose, anyway...)