In Love But Not At Peace

Eastbound, on the District, to Brick Lane; they travel like strangers that don't mind sitting with their shoulders touching. The tube isn't crowded but she sits next to him, her thigh against his like they had to sit that way because of the lack of space. They are the only passengers in the cart, and with all that space she could at least move so he isn't pressed up against the glass spacer.

He isn't stupid, either, but that's beside the point.

He watches out of the corner of his eye as she changes her hair from green to pink, compact mirror held in front of her. He wonders if she notices how she needlessly raises her eyebrows as she tugs on a lock of short, vibrant hair.

They also forgot how to talk, so it seems. Silence is thick like fog in the tube, so he busies himself by reading the muggle advertisements high on the wall as the train moves, surrounded by darkness, underground. He asks himself, the question jumping back into his brain after he tries to push it out again, why they are on the vacant tube going east. There's a curry restaurant on Old Brompton that he likes, because it's quite and there's a good bar nearby. She insists on traveling there. She insists he joins her. He agrees.

Why? He's not sure.

Really, he can't stop lying to himself.

Their stop is Aldgate East, and they enter the pedestrian underground. His steps are quite, soft leather shoes making no noise; her heels make sharp, uneven clicks. The concrete walls bounce the sound against his ears, and it is almost unbearable. They find themselves lost at a dead end leading to a closed gift shop, but he doesn't blame her even though she suggested that route. They laugh about it, turning around and walking up the stairs again. As he places a hand on the small of her back, she staggers, light, nervous laughter matching his own.

"What did you say the name of the restaurant was?" he asks, cringing as his voice echoes. It's like a tunnel of sound, and it makes him feel uncomfortable. But the silence is sometimes worse.

"I didn't," she replies simply, glancing quickly over at him. "What? I'll know it when I see it. Even been on Brick Lane?" He shakes his head. "Well," she says, smiling softly as she draws out the word, "They have some good shops, you'd never know. And good curry if you know where to go."

When they are above ground, he notices that the weather has changed drastically since they left it for the tube. The rain is far off, and the air doesn't smell of it, but heavy gusts of wind come from either side of them.

"Hope it doesn't rain," she comments, tugging on her short jacket as they walk.

"Don't worry," he says, knowing very well that it might rain, but more west and near the water. She says nothing, only offering that same smile she gave him in the pedestrian underground. The smile says nothing except what he can not understand quite yet.

It's a short walk to their destination, and he lets her lead him, by the hand, with the wind rushing about them. No more sound tunnel, now it's a wind tunnel. He wants to think that there is no sound, though, just the wind and her steps, but there are a few people walking the street, mostly businessmen. They reach Brick Lane's entrance -and he says entrance because he knows right away that it's a world of its own- and the start walking north on the crooked road. The lane is very narrow, a one way road for small cars. Most of the signs for side streets are written in Arabic, but he lets her worry about where they are going. He trusts her, for one moment. He knows, very well; no one offers her much trust, so he doesn't say a word. Somehow, when he failed to notice, she laced her fingers through his. Again, not a word is said, but now the silence isn't harsh because he can feel her thinking along side of him.

They stop at a corner, letting a sedan pull out of the alleyway, and once it passes she hesitates. He trails his eyes down her small body, and then looks ahead up the street. It seems as if everything she is wearing was bought on Brick Lane. She catches his eye again, and offers that same sexy smile. He tells himself everything is imagined, or a lie he creates to make himself belief what really doesn't exist. It's all fabricated, all used to keep him thinking of things he shouldn't.