The world was a language Jun was learning to speak again, and Yuna was his patient, loving tutor. But some dialects were harder to master than others. The grammar of touch, in particular, was a complex and delicate syntax.
In the safety of their private spaces, his hands on her were a rediscovered poetry. They could be passionate, demanding, reverent. But in the world, amidst the casual brush of strangers in a crowded market or the jovial clap on the back from a well-meaning, newly-met friend of Yuna’s, he would stiffen. Public affection, the easy, casual intimacy that couples share, felt like a foreign country where he didn’t know the customs.
He watched them sometimes, these couples. Their fingers linked as if it were the most natural thing in the world. A man’s hand resting on the sma
