maybe means nothing
MAYBE MEANS NOTHING;; G
There's this thing she does that drives him crazy, when she doesn't greet. It could be five years since the last time they saw each other or five days, and in either instance she doesn't say hello. This time, it's actually five months. He does the usual, a nod, a wave, a hey, and she doesn't respond.
Maybe that's just the way she is with the rest of the world too, or maybe it's just him, but it doesn't matter.
It throws him up the wall regardless.
The good thing is their mutual manager sits in between them after the casual one sided greeting, reading his floppy newspaper, skimming hurriedly through the leaking calligraphy inked paragraphs, silently muttering at himself for spilling his coffee on it while getting out of the van.
The waiting room at the immigration clinic is empty, and with the three of them sitting in a row, the only unoccupied seats are the three in front of them. Jun perches a sneaker on the one opposite him, then removes it, suddenly feeling icky with dry thoughts about whoever sat there last.
"Where's Minghao?" she eventually asks, not bothering to look over the manager's burly stomach, as if she barely noticed Minghao hadn't been in the van with them the whole way there to renew his own working visa immigration papers.
"Schedule somewhere."
"Of course."
That's the end of their conversation, right there. Maybe it's because she's famous now too, or maybe that's because that's the way she's always been.
Their manager settles his newspaper down and pats his stomach with deep symbolism, before retreating to the restroom. The draft in the clinic becomes colder and Jun feels that icky feeling again, scrunching his shoulders up involuntarily. She eyes him curiously, but carelessly, as if it were a last pitched resort to overcome her boredom. She extends her right foot over the empty chair and kicks his left one, leaving a bit of a mocha colored bruise on his pearly white kicks.
"You look different."
"Same to you."
"Taller, perhaps?"
"I'm over the age of growing."
He mulls over anything he can think of to say next, keep the conversation going, but there's really nothing left to say. Instead, he gives her the classic once over, minute smirk pressed on his lips. Her straight narrow eyebrows, deep set nose, little princess of a chin. She has her arms crossed like she's angry at him, angry at something. Maybe she's just angry that she had to wake up at 5 am in the morning to be here, all for some tedious annual paperwork. Still, her expression never warms so he leaves it like that, only letting her full Chinese name slip off his tongue just before their manager comes back to sit and retreat his newspaper as a blocking mechanism.
"Zhou Jieqiong."
That's their version of saying goodbye. Hellos don't really matter much, he supposes.
--- just a drabble exercise so to speak^^
There's this thing she does that drives him crazy, when she doesn't greet. It could be five years since the last time they saw each other or five days, and in either instance she doesn't say hello. This time, it's actually five months. He does the usual, a nod, a wave, a hey, and she doesn't respond.
Maybe that's just the way she is with the rest of the world too, or maybe it's just him, but it doesn't matter.
It throws him up the wall regardless.
The good thing is their mutual manager sits in between them after the casual one sided greeting, reading his floppy newspaper, skimming hurriedly through the leaking calligraphy inked paragraphs, silently muttering at himself for spilling his coffee on it while getting out of the van.
The waiting room at the immigration clinic is empty, and with the three of them sitting in a row, the only unoccupied seats are the three in front of them. Jun perches a sneaker on the one opposite him, then removes it, suddenly feeling icky with dry thoughts about whoever sat there last.
"Where's Minghao?" she eventually asks, not bothering to look over the manager's burly stomach, as if she barely noticed Minghao hadn't been in the van with them the whole way there to renew his own working visa immigration papers.
"Schedule somewhere."
"Of course."
That's the end of their conversation, right there. Maybe it's because she's famous now too, or maybe that's because that's the way she's always been.
Their manager settles his newspaper down and pats his stomach with deep symbolism, before retreating to the restroom. The draft in the clinic becomes colder and Jun feels that icky feeling again, scrunching his shoulders up involuntarily. She eyes him curiously, but carelessly, as if it were a last pitched resort to overcome her boredom. She extends her right foot over the empty chair and kicks his left one, leaving a bit of a mocha colored bruise on his pearly white kicks.
"You look different."
"Same to you."
"Taller, perhaps?"
"I'm over the age of growing."
He mulls over anything he can think of to say next, keep the conversation going, but there's really nothing left to say. Instead, he gives her the classic once over, minute smirk pressed on his lips. Her straight narrow eyebrows, deep set nose, little princess of a chin. She has her arms crossed like she's angry at him, angry at something. Maybe she's just angry that she had to wake up at 5 am in the morning to be here, all for some tedious annual paperwork. Still, her expression never warms so he leaves it like that, only letting her full Chinese name slip off his tongue just before their manager comes back to sit and retreat his newspaper as a blocking mechanism.
"Zhou Jieqiong."
That's their version of saying goodbye. Hellos don't really matter much, he supposes.
--- just a drabble exercise so to speak^^