His Eyes

“Hi.” The voice startled Deniz at the worst possible moment. He choked. Coughing into his fist, he tipped his head back, blinking rapidly as his eyes watered. Somehow, soda had found its way out through his nose, leaving a sharp sting that made him wince. “Sh*t,” he muttered under his breath. “Oh — sorry about that.” He leaned down to get a look at the person who’d startled him and immediately regretted it. The stranger had bubblegum-pink hair, cut short and blunt in a messy bob. Her lipstick was a shade of red far too bold, and her makeup was thick enough to survive a tropical storm. What a Dora-style is that? I know exactly what this is, he thought, rubbing the back of his neck as he straightened up, assuming this person was a street hustler looking for a client. “Look, miss—or bro—no offense, but I have to get going. Mind stepping aside?” The stranger’s face went red, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as the figure stepped fully into the light. “DO I LOOK LIKE A MAN TO YOU?!” She paused, casting a quick, self-conscious glance around the crowded festival grounds before lowering her voice. “I’m not gay!” Deniz blinked. Then why do you look like— “How much to get to the fair?” she pressed on, undeterred. “Someone told me there’s one nearby. I wanted to catch the Ferris wheel before it gets crowded.” Deniz stared at her. Do I look like I drive a tricycle for a living? I only drove my family here so they could watch the concert. “Miss, I’m not a driver. The tricycles are parked over there.” He pointed toward the long line waiting near the gate. Behind them, a loudspeaker crackled to life, and the crowd surged toward the stage as an announcer promised the arrival of some celebrity Deniz had never bothered to learn the name of. His family was somewhere in that noise, he was sure — probably already losing their minds. The stranger’s expression softened, some of the fire draining out of her. “Never mind, mister. Looks like the show’s is about to start. Sorry for bothering you.” “It’s fine. Sorry too — for, you know. The mix-up.” She let out a short, surprised laugh. Before Deniz could say anything else, she reached deep into her pocket and pulled out a tightly folded scrap of paper, holding it out between her fingers. “You’ll need this. Someday. Somewhere.” He didn’t reach for it. Suspicious. For all he knew it was some kind of call-me-daddy solicitation. “By the way, I’m Sam. Nice to meet you, Deniz.” He went still. “...How do you know my name?” She only smiled, took his hand before he could pull away, and pressed the paper into his palm. Then she turned and walked off into the crowd, leaving him staring after her, brow furrowed, the folded note warm against his skin. Weird, he thought. Shrugging it off, Deniz slipped the piece of paper into his pocket. Whatever it was, he would deal with it later.