The Language of Silence

The afternoon light filtered through the café's tall windows, casting geometric patterns across the polished wooden floor. Nina pushed through the glass door, a small brass bell chiming her arrival, and immediately felt the tension in her shoulders begin to dissipate. After wandering through the city's bustling streets for hours, dodging tourists and navigating crowded sidewalks, the quiet ambiance of this place felt like a sanctuary. She inhaled deeply, savoring the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingling with the buttery scent of pastries. The café was sparsely populated-exactly what she needed. A middle-aged woman sat in the corner, absorbed in her laptop. A young couple whispered to each other near the window, their hands intertwined across the table. And then there was him Nina I noticed him as I claimed a table with a clear view of the entire space after ordering a matcha latte with oat milk, though I pretended not to. Something about the way he sat there, perfectly still as he read his book, drew my attention like a magnet. Purely coincidental, I told myself, that this particular angle also offered an unobstructed perspective of the mysterious stranger. He occupied a table near the back, a simple ceramic cup before him, steam rising in delicate spirals. His posture was impeccable-shoulders squared, back straight-and his light eyes seemed focused on what he was reading, as if he existed in a world slightly removed from this one. I look away and occassionally tried to scroll on my phone distracting myself from glancing but my attention kept drifting towards him. His features were striking in their composition-the sharp definition of his jawline emphasized by a meticulously groomed beard, the contrast between his dark hair and those remarkably pale eyes.There was something magnetic about the intentionality of his appearance, as though every detail had been carefully considered. But it was more than aesthetics that captivated me. He possessed a quality of self-containment, a comfortable solitude that seemed rare in this hyperconnected world yet seem very aware of his surroundings. I realized too late that my stolen glances had become prolonged stares. He turned his head, and our eyes met. My breath caught. Rather than looking away as social convention dictated, he held my gaze with an expression I couldn't quite decipher-not hostile, not flirtatious, simply observant. I looked away staring at the window hoping he would just ignore me and pretended nothing happened. Then, he did something unexpected. He reached into his bag, withdrew a regular size notebook and pen, wrote something with deliberate strokes, and stood. I tried to kept my eyes outside the café as my heart hammered as he approached my table. Up close,he was even more striking. He moved with quiet confidence, each step measured and purposeful. When he reached my table, he placed the notebook before me, his finger pointing to the words he'd written in neat, precise handwriting: Are you staring at me? Heat flooded my cheeks. I looked up at him, then back at the notebook, my mind racing through possible responses. I tried to say "I'm sorry" but he tapped his pen on the notebook again as if indicating to write it down. Then, understanding crystallized. The notebook. The direct approach. The way he watched my lips as I opened my mouth to speak. He was deaf I felt a smile tug at my lips despite my embarrassment. Of all the languages I'd studied—Russian with its complex cases, Japanese with its intricate honorifics, Spanish with its rapid-fire conjugations-I'd been meaning to learn American Sign Language for months. I'd checked out books from the library, watched online tutorials, but life had conspired to keep it perpetually on my to-do list. Now seemed as good a time as any to try. I lifted my hands, fingers uncertain, and signed "Yes. Sorry" I lifted my dominant right hand in a fist as I moved it down in a nodding motion before placing my hand fist on my chest and moved in a circular motion. Then, I asked if he was deaf by moving my right hand to trace an arc from my cheek near my ear to my cheek near my mouth with my index finger. Something shifted in his expression. The corners of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly, and he gestured to the empty chair across from me, eyebrows raised in question as if asking if he could sit there. I nodded with my dominant hand signing yes simultaneously, perhaps too enthusiastically. He sat, his movements fluid and unhurried. He pointed at me and made a circular motion towards his body with both index fingers before pointing back at me again with his eyebrows up ending it with his right index finger tracing a question mark asking me: you sign? I nodded with my fist again. then remembered he might appreciate a more comprehensive response. I took the pen he offered and wrote: relearning ASL I had ASL 1 before but I stop out of overwhelmness. He read my words, and this time his smile was unmistakable. He wrote: I can teach you. I'm an ASL teacher at Superior State University. I can get you into my class for free, and we can practice in my free time if you're interested My jaw almost dropped but I tried to be a little bit composed by mouthing oh! as it was a surprised to find out that I met such a wonderful person out of nowhere. Superior State University is higher educational intitution based in this city, known as a university of creativity. It offers art related programs such as Culinary Arts, Animation and Visual Effects, Filmmaking and Acting even have linguistics. Superior State University is known by the quality of its programs of study, teachers and for graduating some of the most creative and dedicated professionals. Being a student or being a professor is like being a celebrity. Not believing at first until I fidgeted and looked down on my hand holding a navy or perhaps dark royal blue pen with metal gold trims on it. Even the ink written on the side of the base of the pen was written in gold ink: Superior State University with the small logo of it at the end. I closed the book seeing even the bigger logo of the university confirming he is indeed a professor there... I opned it again and I stared at the words, reading them twice to ensure I understood correctly. A stranger-an admittedly captivating stranger-was offering to teach me, to give me access to university classes without charge. In my experience, such generosity usually came with strings attached, yet something in his steady gaze suggested sincerity. Trust, my mother always said, is not given blindly but earned through small moments of truth. I manage to sign "why?" by taking my dominant hand and touch my forhead forehead with my fingers together, then bring the hand forward and down, changing it to a "Y" handshape with the thumb and pinky extended and the other fingers curled into the palm. Because of my limited knowledge of signing the rest of the sentence before writing down on his notebook: we just met. He read my question, and his response came quickly: Because you tried. Most hearing people don't. And because I saw genuine interest in your eyes I felt something shift in my chest, a recognition that this moment might be significant in ways I couldn't yet comprehend. I asked what was his name by pointing at him and creating "H" handshape with both hands while the edge of my dominant hand middle finger taps twice on the top edge of the index finger of my passive hand both "H" hands are kind of cross diagonally from me before pointing at him again with my lowered furrowed brows to indicate a WH- question before relaxing my expression again. He fingered spelled with practiced ease: E-T-H-A-N, He signed the same signs to ask my name and I had fingerspelled my name aswell: N-I-N-A I first sign "nice" by sweeping the dominant right hand across the palm of the my passive left hand, then form "meet" by forming a "L" shape with both hands, then bring the extended index fingers together, and finally point back to him to say "nice to meet you" With a gentle smile he returned the same signs back at me with him sliding the "Y" hand back and forth between us meaning "Nice to meet you too" It was beyond words what I was feeling as I enjoy his company despite our little struggle not being able to communicate properly especially for a hearing person like me who is not used to signing, but he is probably used to talking to hearing people who does not know how to sign. He calmly and gently placed his rough and firm hands on my hands whenever he correct my signing and modeling, showing me how to properly sign the word. Our conversation grew longer to evening as I watched the sunset light passing through the glass wall dramaticly making his eyes shift colors from light gray to blue once the light passed casting a mysterious shadow in his eyes intensifrying his intense and serious feature. His crisp fresh perfume mixed with his natural scent waft around me like a warm blanket everytime he leans closer. Our shared interraction was cut and our heads suddenly snapped at the screen of the apple watch he was wearing on his right hand, flickering erraticly followed by and in sync with the vibration catching our attention. He turned his wrist facing the apple watch's screen towards him and then tapped the screen revealing the content of the notification. His eyebrows furrowed, tighthened his lips, and his jaw tightened showing the seriousness of the content for a second before relaxing his facial feature and looked back at me. Obvious that he read something important. He signed sign "I" (by pointing to himself), then "NEED" (by using an X-shaped hand and bringing it down), followed by the sign for "GO" (using both index fingers to point forward in an arc). Meaning he have to go. Well I felt my heart dropped for a second sad to lost the interaction and just nodded realizing I have to go home aswell.