Magnetic Hearts

The Language Barrier

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the living room. Franco was in the kitchen, humming to himself as he prepared coffee, while I lounged on the couch, flipping through a magazine. It was a lazy Saturday morning, the kind where neither of us had anywhere to be, and we were soaking in the rare moment of peace.

As Franco came into the living room with two mugs, he handed one to me and settled beside me, his leg brushing against mine.

"Gracias," I said absentmindedly, taking the mug.

"De nada," Franco replied with a smile.

I sipped the coffee, savoring the warmth, but something about the exchange stuck with me. "You know," I said, tilting my head, "we've been together for a while now, but we never really speak in our native languages to each other."

Franco frowned slightly, looking amused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're Argentinian, I'm Brazilian, and yet, we always speak English. Even though our languages are practically cousins!" I gestured between us as if that would explain the oddity I was feeling.

Franco chuckled, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "True. Spanish and Portuguese are pretty similar. But I guess English just became the default for us."

I grinned, a playful idea forming in my head. "Wanna try something?"

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What?"

"Let's talk in our native languages, no English. See if we can still understand each other."

Franco laughed, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "Okay, deal. But don't get mad if I mix up a word or two!"

I smirked, setting my mug on the coffee table. "No promises."

We started slow, testing the waters with basic phrases.

"Bom dia, amor," I said, giving him a sly smile.

Franco grinned, immediately catching on. "Buenos días, mi amor."

I laughed. "See? That wasn't so hard."

"Por supuesto que no," Franco shot back, the ease of his Spanish flowing.

I nodded, trying to keep the conversation going without slipping into English. "Você quer fazer alguma coisa hoje? Talvez um passeio?"

He raised an eyebrow, understanding most of what I said but hesitating. "¿Quieres hacer algo hoy? Um... paseo?"

I laughed, clapping my hands together. "Yes! Exactly. Paseo means the same as 'passeio' in Portuguese!"

Franco chuckled, leaning back on the couch. "This is too easy."

"Oh really?" I teased. "How about this: Você pode pegar o controle remoto pra mim?"

Franco blinked. "Uh... I got 'pegar' and 'controle remoto,' but I'm lost after that."

I giggled, realizing the game was harder than we thought. "I asked if you could get the remote for me."

He laughed, grabbing the remote and handing it to me. "Okay, maybe we still need some practice."

We spent the rest of the morning playfully stumbling over words, laughing whenever we hit a word that didn't translate well. It was fun, trying to communicate in our native tongues, even when the similarities weren't always obvious. Franco would occasionally get frustrated, mixing Portuguese with his Spanish, and I would struggle to keep my sentences simple enough for him to catch the gist.

By the time we were getting ready to head out for lunch, the playful banter had become second nature. As we walked to the café, we kept speaking in our languages, making passersby give us confused looks as we tossed around Spanish and Portuguese like a hybrid conversation.

When we arrived at the café, Daniel Ricciardo was already there, waiting at a table. He looked up, waving us over with a big smile.

"Hey, guys!" he greeted.

Franco and I exchanged a glance, our mischievous plan forming instantly. We slipped into our respective languages as we greeted Daniel.

"Oi, Dani!" I said, waving back.

"Hola, Dani," Franco chimed in, sitting down beside him.

Daniel blinked, his smile faltering slightly as he processed what was happening. "Wait... what?"

Franco and I grinned, continuing our conversation as if Daniel wasn't completely lost.

"Você quer pedir o que?" I asked Franco, eyeing the menu.

"Hmm... voy a pedir una pizza," Franco responded, nodding thoughtfully.

Daniel's eyes darted between us, utterly confused. "Guys... are you doing this on purpose?"

We both burst out laughing, Franco's hand clapping Daniel on the back. "Sorry, mate. We're practicing speaking in our native languages."

Daniel groaned, leaning back in his chair. "Great. Now I'm the odd one out. I don't know a word of Portuguese or Spanish."

I winked at Daniel, still laughing. "Don't worry, we'll translate. Maybe."

For the rest of lunch, Franco and I stuck to our game, making Daniel groan and roll his eyes as we carried on in our native tongues. We'd occasionally break and explain something in English, but for the most part, we were having way too much fun confusing everyone around us.

Later that evening, back at the apartment, Franco and I collapsed on the couch, exhausted from the day's antics. I snuggled into his side, feeling content as we watched TV—this time in English.

"Do you think we should keep it up?" I asked, looking up at him with a grin.

Franco chuckled, his arm wrapping around me. "Yeah, why not? Keeps things interesting."

"Definitely," I said, feeling a warm sense of satisfaction. "Plus, we get to mess with people."

He smirked, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "Exactly. And we're pretty good at that."

I laughed, resting my head against his chest. We might have started it as a joke, but now it felt like something that was uniquely ours—this playful connection between our cultures, and our languages. It was another piece of us, something that brought us closer in a way I hadn't expected.

From that moment on, speaking in our native tongues became a habit—one that left everyone around us scratching their heads, but it didn't matter. It was our little secret, and I loved every second of it.