Sign Language

(Alina's POV)

The smile of that woman lingered on warmly in my mind. It was not the smile of a stranger, an image reminiscent of my mother, comforting, patient. Suffice it that memory made me bend my head and place my hand in hers without misgivings over what road it was to take me, which was all the same with no destination to look for in my search.

She firmly but tenderly took my hand as she led me through the jostling streets. Soft yet talkative, words spilled from her lips, filling in all those silent gaps I could not seem to break. "I saw you at the bun shop," she started in a light casual tone, "You looked so lost. So sad. I followed you because I knew something was wrong.”

Her words caught me off guard, and I turned towards her in surprise. She giggled as if she knew how hesitant I was going to be. "Hope you don't mind my nosy nature; it's just me. I mean, one can never ignore a soul that looks hurt.”

Her words stirred something in me, some mix of gratitude and shame. I was used to stares of pity, this was something else. For once, her kindness was not forced jolting or condescending.

We stopped in front of a small bakery. The façade was old, with paint chipped off most of it, but inside, it smelled fresh, like the bread just came out of the oven. Occasionally, happy faces popped out into the light when people came and went through the swinging door.

"Here we are," she said, opening the door and pushing me inside.

It took one more burst of energy to open that heavy-looking door, but instantly, the heat in this shop wrapped itself around me: there was a cozy interior, wood lines of bread, pastry shelves holding jars of jams, some customers seating at small tables and whispering over cups of hot tea-in-a-cup. The aromas of baked goods danced over me, and for probably the first time in a long time, my shoulders relaxed.

A young man stepped out from behind the counter, his face lighting up when he saw us. “Mum, you’re back! And… who’s this?”

The woman smiled at me before turning to him. “This young lady is my new friend,” she said cheerfully. “Bring her some bread, Utopia. She looks like she could use something warm.”

The young man, Utopia, was an exceptionally good-looking man. His dark hair was tousled, and a set of dimples appeared high on his cheeks when he smiled, softening sharp features. He was perhaps a few years older than me, but not much. His eyes moved to me then, curiosity and warmth in their depths.

"Right away," he said, disappearing into the back room.

She waved me toward the chair beside the window and sat down across from me. She stared into my eyes. They were nice, compassionate eyes. "You're so quiet," she whispered. "Are you all right?"

I waited until I could force from myself a small, embarrassed smile. I didn't know how to tell her. I couldn't tell her.

Before the silence could get awkward, Utopia returned with a tray, a loaf of warm bread upon it, and a little bowl with fresh fruit. He sat down opposite me and smiled. "There you go. Still fresh out of the oven."

Well, his friendliness was a germ, and I found myself smiling in response.

"So," he started, hauling up one of the chairs beside his mom, "you're the new friend Mom has made?”

I nodded and his smile extended.

"What's your name?" he asked.

I was taken aback and unsure how to respond. Taking a moment to think, I made a writing motion with my hand. His eyes suddenly brightened in understanding. "Oh, wait here!" he exclaimed, jumping up and going to the counter.

He showed up with a small notepad and a pencil in his hand. He gave these to me, smiling quite anxiously, and I couldn't help but silently chuckle at his eagerness.

He leaned forward, and so did his mother, as I wrote my name on it.

"Alina."

"Alina," Utopia repeated, trying the name in his mouth. "That's a beautiful name."

His mother smiled warmly. "It suits you."

I felt my cheeks warm from their praise. It had been so long since anybody ever complimented me, that I didn't know what to say.

"You can always use sign language if you want," Utopia's mother suggested. "You may find it much easier that way.”

I shook my head quickly, hands flying up instinctively in refusal. I didn't know sign language, and somehow that realization made me feel even more inadequate.

They looked at each other in surprise and back at me again. I scrawled in my notebook to explain it was new and that I hadn't learned the signs yet.

Understanding creased their features, followed by compassion and pity, but understanding.

"My cousin's the same," Utopia's mom said after a second. "He's been mute since birth. Our family learned sign language so we could communicate with him better." She leaned across the table, laying a hand over mine. "If you'd like, I can teach you."

It was such an unexpected, generous offer that I didn't know how to respond. My throat constricted, and I nodded, my eyes shining with gratitude.

It all was a haze, only a day of warmth and kind feelings.

I work the counter, handing one consumer after another their bread; they smile back and often thank me. In utopia, I learned about the working of dough. With one hand guiding mine while trying to explain patiently or joking around, I found my merriment silently in those witty moods.

In between tasks, Utopia's mother started teaching me basic sign language. She was patient, her hands moving with grace as she showed each gesture. I mimicked her, fumbling at first but growing more confident with her encouragement.

"You're a fast learner," she said with a smile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a small spark of pride.

As the sun started to set, the bakery quieted again. Utopia and his mom sat with me at the counter, telling me stories of their family, of life in the pack. The ease and the warmth of them infected me, and for a few hours, I didn't hurt anymore, I wasn't scared, and I wasn't weighed down by my past.

By the time I was getting ready to go, Utopia followed me out the door.

Come anytime," he said, his dimples flashing as he smiled. "Mum likes you, and… I guess I do too."

Those words lightened my heart as I nodded, smiling back at him before heading to the house.

The next morning, I woke with a feeling of anticipation that was long strange to me. For the first time in weeks, there was something to look ahead to. I got dressed hastily, not stopping for breakfast in my hurry to get out of the door.

The maids stood and stared at me with wide eyes, quite surprised at my sudden burst of energy. One of them called, "Miss, are you alright? Do you need anything?”

I smiled and waved them off, my excitement launching me forward.

Three days passed, and each morning was the same: to the bakery and into the open arms of Utopia and his mother. I knew more sign language and was growing more confident with each gesture. I helped with the customers, played small games with Utopia during quiet moments, and even tried my hand at baking.

For the first time in a long while, I felt… at peace.

But in the back of my mind, one thought still lingered.

Kennedy.

He hadn't come back, and a part of me wondered where he was. Was he okay? Was he thinking about me?

I tried to shake the thoughts away, telling myself he was strong—insanely so. Nothing could go wrong.

Or so I thought.

But something had gone wrong.