The knock on his door forces Harry out of his daydream, idly watching his two cats purr and snuggle with each other against the window sill, the morning light shining down on them. He's expecting the person at his porch, just like every other Saturday, but her presence never eases his tension or the fluttering in his chest. Some mornings, he lays in bed and worries he doesn't have enough strength to even think about her, much less swing the door open and look at her dead in the eyes, in love with her, and not be able to say anything except friendly things. It's draining some days, but other days, it's the only source of energy he gets in between his vigorous schedule of studying and making sure he's keeping himself healthy. He's never actually thanked her for being the first house she comes to either. He gets up from his position on the couch and walks to the door, faltering just for a moment before slowly reaching out and opening it.
She stands there with her black shirt tucked into her flared light blue jeans that have slowly faded, her arms straining with the boxes in her hands.
"Hi," Harry says, leaning against the door frame, a smile on his face. "What do you have for me today?"
The woman, who is just a year older than him, thrusts three cartons of strawberries into his chest. "They're so heavy. Strawberries from my field. I have more if you want, though. Somehow they all grew fine so I guess it seems like I'm doing something right for once."
He shifts them easily to his left arm, nodding in gratitude. "Thank you. You're a bit early today. It's like -- what? 7?"
Nisha scratches her arm distractedly and a quick sweep of his eyes confirms there's a bug bite on her bicep. "I have some plans at noon, so I wanted to get everything done quicker."
Harry raises a brow. "Hot date with Jamal?"
She shakes her head. "Quite the opposite. It's my family coming over." She rolls her eyes and rubs her skin after scratching it painfully. Her tone seems clipped, looking at her boxes almost angrily. "I know what they're going to say, so I don't know why we can't just do it over the phone, but whatever. 'Nisha! Get married! Nisha! You're 27! Nisha this Nisha that.' It's like they want to see how much they can stress me out. I manage a whole business, but do they see that? No." Suddenly her face relaxes, glancing back at him. "I'm sorry. I just vomited all that."
Harry knows that her family has been bugging her lately, so he gives her a sympathetic look, tilting his head to the side. "I understand. Isn't that Jamal's job, though? He's the one proposing."
"Only one teeny tiny problem. We broke up two days ago."
His eyes soften. "I'm sorry, Nish. How are you holding up?"
She shrugs. "I'm good. I broke up with him. Just wasn't happy, that's all." She then grins. "You know I'm all about being happy."
He does know that, and that's what makes him most attracted to her. Sure, her glossy black hair that comes down to her shoulders and her deep dark eyes have left a mark on him. It's true that the dirt on her face after spending a whole day picking vegetables also makes him melt with endearment, and don't get him started on the henna that stains her hands when she practices designs on herself because he won't be able to stop thinking about it for weeks.
"And I admire you for that." He pauses, licking his lips as he usually does when he gets an idea. "Do you want to come inside?"
She shakes her head. "Thank you for the offer, H, but I gotta run. I'll see you tomorrow though. You promised to make me muffins."
"I'll be ready for you. Have fun with your family."
She snorts. "Yeah right. See ya."
He waves at her and when she turns away, he closes the door with his foot. Ginger, one of his cats, peers at him curiously, sniffing the cardboard boxes he holds, following him closely as Harry walks to the kitchen. Ginger meows.
