Ruins of Autumn

52• The Airports

    The tapping of her slender fingers in front of his face brought Sidoreli's full attention back from the oversized photograph hanging on the mahogany wall, as if it were an open window and outside it was snowing in the forest, to Anila.
 
    "You were looking in that way again," she laughed adorably at his state as if he were hypnotised by art and took carefully the red cup in front of her to drink the ordered tea so that it wouldn't spill on her tight sky-blue jeans or the forest green jersey, and the white trainers that she was also wearing would be in danger of suffering the same fate. 
 
    Anila considered it something unique. He liked the uniqueness that artists had. While many people follow the flow of reality as slavishly hypnotized by it, artists see more than the eye allows; a butterfly, which for someone is just flying in the air, for a writer becomes the inspiration to write a story about the tragic death of a wizard with wings, whom the person of his heart could not save in time and therefore vows to take revenge for his loss, the painting of a mountain inspires the writing of the adventures of two enemies in a valley, who have finally arrived at the long-sought house and, as they gaze at the stars while relaxing on the balcony, they hear wolves howling in the hills beyond, a sign in the form of a warning, that the danger is not over yet, and they must continue their cooperation together; other created universes, other versions of lives, illusions, that capture one's soul in an overjoy invade, and the weight of those artistic fictions lightens the weight of that of reality.
 
    "Which way?" Sidoreli also checked the grey jeans he was wearing, the light blue sweater, and the white sneakers to see if he had accidentally stained them somewhere and calmly said that no such incident had happened to him, and then he looked at her.
 
    "As if you were mesmerised by inspiration," Anila placed the cup carefully on the black table. "Did you get any idea for another tattoo?"
 
    He nodded in agreement. He was thinking about drawing a symbol for someone who was born in winter; maybe something unusual happened to him in that season, or it was just his favourite.
 
    "Did you ask me a question, and I didn't hear it?"
 
    "Yes." Anila's soft eyes showed understanding of his unintentional neglect of her presence. "That day, when we met in urban, did you know who I was?"
 
    Sidoreli recalled two days in his mind. "Which time?"
 
    His question, along with the vague look, confused her as well. "In June. Only then did we meet. Then in the company the same day. Don't you remember?"
 
    The surprise of Sidoreli's confused glance was further increased by the same question, which she read in his eyes: 'You don't remember?'
 
    He looked up a little as a sign of realisation about which day she was talking about, pursed his lips in acceptance of the situation, and the question was also erased from his gaze.
 
    "Only by physical appearance," he used the typical steady and reassuring voice that he had, as well as the energy that spread with his presence.
 
    It was the second date, and within Anila, the feelings of being safe with him had begun to stand out more, being valued by the trust he expressed towards her by the way he spoke to her, as if she were a part of his family and romantically liked by him, an emotion that encouraged Anila to allow Sidoreli to be seen differently by her, not only as one known by name and face, but as he looked at her, and the thoughts that arose in her from that kind of gaze unbroken for a long time by him gave her the impression that she was dating with a strong, smart, and handsome man. If she gave him some time, Sidoreli would prove that those thoughts she had about him were correct, and Anila accepted every time, more and more seduced by him, to offer such a chance for both of them.
 
    "Did you recognise me?"
 
    She nodded.
 
    "What about me? What kind of tattoo do you think would suit me?" Anila put her right foot on the left one, the outstretched palm of her left hand on the closed honey-coloured sofa, where she was sitting, and her right hand on the knee of the same side.
 
    He took the opportunity to stare at her, protected by the excuse that he was only thinking about what tattoo would suit her the most and not because he liked her beauty, her personality, and her sharp strength, which she often showed that she possessed by looking unbroken and indifferent to the attacks of others.
 
    It seemed as if she knew that she gave the impression of an arrogant person with that attitude, but she didn't care at all, since she knew the truth quite well, that many people did not admit it aloud, that they thought she seemed on a much higher level than they were, and they couldn't achieve her with flattery, which they gave.
 
    She wasn't a kitten that could be easily tamed with a caress of words or glances, but a lioness; one had to gain her trust first just to approach her. Getting love from her, then, was a challenge in itself.
 
    "The sun comes to my mind when I see you," said Sidoreli. "And nature, the earth. You have eyes that shine with liveliness, but also the attitude of a down-to-earth person."
 
    Anila expressed impatience in her smiling gaze to know the final result.
 
    "The sunflower," the tattooist suggested. "I think that would suit you."
 
    She chuckled softly. "See? That's why I don't see your posts on Instagram. I'm sure you'll convince me to get a tattoo."
 
    Sidoreli believed, affected by her compliment, that he drew very beautifully. "Thank you." He drank the rest of his energy drink and looked out the large wooden-framed window, breaking the grey sky into small rectangles. "Shall we get up? To walk a little."
 
    "Yes," she took the white belt bag left on the couch to her left and took out her wallet to pay for the ordered tea.
 
    "Anila."
 
    The growl in his voice made her shudder, but she managed to keep her eyes under control so as not to express the wavering she felt from the stern gaze she knew was upon her from Sidoreli for the issue of payment. 
 
    "You won't spend your whole life with your head down." He predicted their confrontation very quickly, and Anila looked at him, ready to defend her argument in the discussion.
 
    "What is it?" She matched the serious tone with the look as well, and Sidoreli smirked, drawn more from her by the unsubmissive strength in her gaze.
 
    "Can you put the money in the bag?" he asked politely.
 
    "Why?" Anila seemed as if she really did not know why he was making such a request.
 
    "You know why. Let's not make this more difficult."
 
    She took the relay in her hand to stare into his stern eyes and smirk at being attracted by the power that lay in the jade interlaced with the soft green.
 
    "Sidorel." Her calm gaze met his categorical one, who did not let go for a moment while keeping his back resting on the couch, his forearms crossed in front of him, and looking at Anila with her elbows on the table, who started to doubt her strength and to be convinced that in that conversation he would have the last word. "This is not our first date, so you have to pay because you made the invitation. It's the second one, and I would like to hang out again. I like you as a person."
 
    The words shot out like arrows from a bow, and Anila could not return them. She didn't like it at all that she was not a little restrained and distant from the newly-acquainted people but kept the conversation lively with them. She couldn't be cold with anyone. It was instinct from the beginning—to talk and joke, to have the best time with that person—so that he would not feel uncomfortable and think that he was annoying Anila with his presence or the way he behaved. She treated people as if they were family members; this was the flaw, which she felt was too difficult to change. She only wanted to have the best time possible with anyone, but people could even feel suffocated by her intense expression of love, and others would take advantage of her, seeing her as easy prey to be hurt. She urgently needed to learn to keep his distance.
 
    Sidoreli immediately dropped the heavy gaze armour on her.
 
    "It's up to you," Anila had nothing to do; she had to continue on her way. "I will totally understand, if you say, that this is the last time we go out together. I appreciate you being kind to me during this time. I'm not one hundred percent sure if you respected me because you wanted to or if you pretended, but you won't have any worries from me. I don't waste my time falling to the zero level, where the negative people are. After all, you are living with your real self, whatever the latter may be. I'm fine by myself." It seemed right to her to show that she would not be sad at all and that he did not have the same wish as her to go out again, although that was a lie. "That's why I think it's more appropriate for me to pay for my drink now. We are the same. You work, and that's why you spend money, and so do I. Why should you be the only one to spend? Your money hasn't fallen from the sky. You're at work from morning until almost evening. And me benefiting from your effort? It's not fair."
 
    "You're not benefiting," he used a calmer tone of voice, bewitched by her, as he recalled that she liked him as a person and wanted to go out with him again. 
 
    "Let's not deviate from the prediction when I have said that you and I will get along very well together! OK?" she widened her pleading eyes.
 
    Sidoreli still shook his head in disapproval and took his wallet out of his jeans pocket.
 
    "No, I can't leave the bar, knowing that you have paid," he closed the wallet.
 
    "Oh, God! We Albanians," she laughed with her shoulders constantly up and down. "How are we going to agree with each other?"
 
    "Anila." Sidoreli also placed his forearms on the table to be closer to her. "I work at that company because of you. I have to pay."
 
    "Oh, now," she put her head back tiredly. "What did I say a moment ago?"
 
    He called the waiter.
 
    "OK," Anila gave up. "Though I'm not sure, but..."
 
    Sidoreli paid the bill, and they left the bar.
 
    He was walking from the side of the driveway with Anila on his left.
 
    "What about you? What is something that you don't like?" she asked with all her heart. "Like, I don't like tattoos, for example."
 
    "I don't like trips," he fixed his rigorous gaze on the pedestrian path in front of them. "The airports, especially."
 
    "Seriously? What are you going to do with the job? I remember Majlinda constantly on trips because she was the administrator." Anila remembered.
 
    "I will find a way."
 
    "I have no doubts about that."
 
    The belief in her eyes stopped him from walking.
 
    "Shall I text you this Sunday to go out again?" It seemed like an appropriate moment to tell her that he wanted them to continue dating.
 
    "Yes, I have time." Anila accepted his invitation for that weekend and for the following days of November.
 
    She ignored all the warnings brought forward by the past, to be careful not to become too dependent on Sidoreli and then suffer the same repetition of events, and sided with intuition, which insisted that he was as much a fair person as he looked like, and he wasn't playing with her.
 
••••
    While walking home after the usual meeting at the end of the third month of autumn at work, she received a message from someone on Instagram who was interested in working for the company as a distributor.
 
    It didn't seem to her that it would be a problem if she answered when she arrived home, but, influenced by the thought of how many unknown emotions the stranger had about the new job, how many dreams she had woven, and desires that were waiting for her to be fulfilled as soon as possible, Anila took out her phone from the pocket of her black coat and texted the answer.
 
    She clutched the phone when the fingers of a hand grabbed her right arm and pulled her back, and with her heart in her throat, she turned her head back.
 
    "Wait." Graniti reprimanded her bitterly, and she looked faintly at the traffic light from the other side of the road with the red light on to stop the pedestrians from crossing.
 
    "Oh!" Anila drew back with her head down from the embarrassment of the carelessness shown and the remark made by the stranger, whose dark blue eyes had looked at her as harshly as the words used to stop her. "Thank you," she looked at his face in profile to her right, the short dark red hair, the grey scarf around his neck, and the closed Prussian blue coat he was wearing.
 
    "Not at all," Graniti answered coldly with his gaze fixed on the road ahead, and they both waited in silence.
 
    He had immediately suspected that the woman was Anila Idrizaj, as soon as he had spotted her, approaching him with her head over the phone, he made sure from her eyes that she was the girl Denada had told him about Blerim Agolli, and he had searched for her on the Internet to find out if she was a familiar face.
 
    It was the first time he was meeting her, and he had just saved her life, if he could say it like that. Anila, apparently, didn't recognise him and had no idea that she had just met Leonora Vitor's brother.
 
    When the green light came on, Graniti walked through the white lines to cross to the other side and got the feeling that Anila had not moved from the spot. To look back and know if he was wrong in his assumption, he could not. He didn't want to give her the idea that he was interested in her.
 
    The vibration of the phone in the right pocket of his blue jeans erased his thoughts. He read Leonora's name before answering and placing the phone in his left ear.
 
    "Hello?"
 
    "Granit, why haven't you liked my story on Instagram?"
 
    "I don't like anyone's story," he clarified.
 
    "But I'm different. You should say, 'What an honour for me that I can view your stories!' "
 
    'Huh! Even the reason why I view your stories is because I view other stories first, and then yours are next, and I can't exit in time not to view them."
 
    "Wow! How can you not support your sister? What kind of brother are you?!"
 
    He chuckled at her dramatisation.
 
    "Fine, fine, remember this one!" Leonora showed that she was mad at him. "You haven't even introduced me to Pavlina yet."
 
    "Will you ever forget that?"
 
    "No, in these kinds of cases, I don't forget anything." Leonora laughed. "Give a like to that story."
 
    "Nora, you should rather thank me for not blocking you."
 
    "Is that so? Fine, then. Only out of anger, I will hang up the phone first. Don't end the call, OK? I want to win the argument."
 
    "OK," he agreed, smiling, to give the victory to his sister, and he exhaled lightly while turning off the phone after she ended the call.

    He knew that Leonora's humour and adapting to reality with optimism, regardless of what had happened to her, was more of a coping mechanism with life to create endless beautiful memories as soon as she could, in order to forget the negative ones, rather than the fact that she had really put her past completely behind her, and he was determined to help Leonora reach a time when she wouldn't have to try that hard, because the creation of beautiful memories would happen naturally.