Elisabeth & Noah in the origin world (2/?)

First date

He is not sure if he should text her or not.

On Monday, upon waking up with every ounce of alcohol finally off his bloodstream and after he has spent the entire Sunday recovering from the worst hangover he’s experienced since his college years, Noah is back on his reserved nature, the timid one, the one lacking the amount of whiskey-infused courage it takes for him to deal with matters revolving around human interaction, especially with women. He’s not a social outcast per se, but his confidence mostly accompanies him in the career-oriented side of his life.

It’s not like he’s not interested. He crossed the line of “interested” when he stooped to the lowest level possible, looking her up on Instagram, of all things, via Agnes’ account.

(His little sister has a long list of questions and he has a long list of brotherly favors that he promised to fulfill in exchange for her seven-digit password.)

She doesn’t have a vast presence on social media, a quality they apparently share. He keeps a long forgotten Facebook account and a professional LinkedIn one and acts blissfully ignorant towards any other platform that isn’t YouTube. Her Facebook account - oh yeah, he checked that one too - is a mix between personal and business, opinion posts about socio-politcal matters on the grounds of their country to the entirety of Europe to the endlessness of the globe and take-action events in regard to the causes she supports, occasionally interrupted by a reunion selfie with an old friend or a brunch date with her mom and her sister. That particular post redirected to some Instagram link, so, unwittingly, his curiosity was peaked.

Her Instagram account is colourful, vivid, filled with adventures and laughter. Just from an idle scroll, Elisabeth Doppler - Winden born, age twenty-four, Energy Engineer, Berlin based - can easily be perceived as someone that quite enjoys life. Her group of associates and friends seems endless and her gallery consists of photos of dinners with young professionals, pub-crawling with girlfriends, road tripping across Europe, Erasmus Programme memories, tree-planting projects, women’s rights marches, snorkelling, paragliding. Noah spends the whole Sunday afternoon feeling overwhelmed and in awe, tapping picture after picture, mesmerized by her lovely smile that adds a softer undertone to her busy bee of a life.

He finds it fascinating, her mindset and her lifestyle, but, at the same time, he fears that their personalities may clash, his more keeping-to-himself attitude the polar opposite to her seemingly outgoing one. Then, it’s also the age barrier. He thinks that thirty-two might be a little off-putting for someone in their early twenties, a decade that comes with a whole other set of expectations and milestones than the one he is currently in. The major problem, though - a chronic problem of his - is that he’s thinking too much.

Fortunately, that’s not a thing they have in common.

Elisabeth texts him on Monday morning, at 9.54 to be exact. He’s in the middle of a lecture, teaching History of Religion 101 to an auditorium filled with sleepy freshmen, when his phone screen lights up, its glow illuminating in the dimly lit room. It’s a simple “good morning” paired up with a smiling face emoji but it’s enough to cause his heart to race and his mind to short-circuit, leaving him reciting things off the projection screen without really registering what comes out of his mouth until the lesson is over. With sweaty hands and in the mist of internal panic laced with excitement, he texts her back at 10.38 an equally casual “hey, hope you’re having a good morning, too”. He beats himself up for not asking her anything the minute he presses send, like, how she’s doing, if she’s at work - literally anything, Noah, Jesus Christ, now she’ll think that you don’t care, nice work, you idiot - especially as the hours pass and there’s silence from her end. He spends the rest of the day drowning in miserable self-pity, checking his dead phone literally every minute, until there’s a new message from her, telling him that she had a very busy day at work and asking him how his day was.

(Thank God, because he was about to send her an embarrassing word vomit apologizing for having zero social skills whatsoever.)

They continue their back and forth texting for the rest of the week, casual conversations about their everyday lives turning into debates about the best places to eat and the best movies of all time to metaphysics and social justice that keep them up till the small hours of morning, Elisabeth sending him blowing-a-kiss face emoji’s for goodnight and Noah smiling like a silly teenager at his phone screen. Right in the middle of one of their more “serious” conversations, Elisabeth venting about income-based discrimination, Noah asks her out. It’s abrupt and totally irrelevant to the context of the rest of the bubbles that litter their personal chat at that moment but he can’t really help himself. She is a woman he wants - needs - to know more about, not through a screen, but in person, sit there and watch her express all the things she has in her brilliant mind.

They arrange to meet on Friday night, after she finishes work, since Noah has to attend a seminar in Dresden on the weekend and since both of them are too impatient to wait any longer. Noah arrives first at the bar she gave him directions to and decides on waiting for her outside but decides against smoking a cigarette, even though he’s itching to, out of habit and nerves. She rounds the corner barely five minutes later, strutting towards him in an electric blue pantsuit and a plaid maxi grey coat, her whole face brightening with a stunning smile when she notices him, and, just like that, everything else fades, his anxiety about their first official date, his mental fatigue after holding office hours, his insecurities, his worries and she is the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters.

A wave of panic washes over him momentarily, his inner perfectionist making a huge deal out of not having a clear plan of how to greet her. A handshake is too impersonal, a kiss too presumptuous. Ultimately, he attempts an awkward, one-arm kinda hug - which is ridiculous because a) he’s a freaking grown-up and b) her tongue has already been inside his mouth and he doesn’t recall his hands being particularly respectful the night of Jonas’ wedding, when she pushed him against a wall and stole his breath with a glorious kiss - an action she probably misconstrues as a leaning in and this results in them doing a clumsy dance right there on the pavement, but she giggles and her eyes shine with amusement, so his self-deprecating frown gives its place to a handsome smirk, when she moves closer to him and leaves a soft peck on his cheek, as a belated greeting. She smells of sensuous jasmine and intoxicating amber, her perfume aery but with a spicy twist that succeeds in stimulating all of his senses. He holds the door for her to enter and his hand lingers lightly on the small of her waist, as they make their way through the tables to the bar.

They settle on two empty barstools and order their signature drinks, Gin and Tonic and Whiskey on the Rocks. Elisabeth takes her phone out of her tote bag but before she gets to type anything, Noah holds her attention. He thinks for a moment and then makes his hands move, forming tentative gestures that lack any grace or flow but succeed in signing “It’s nice to see you. How have you been?”.

Elisabeth beams, impressed, her lips mouthing an excited “how?”. He just shrugs and shyly pulls out of his messenger bag a thick sign language book, a recent purchase of his which he’s been studying with every chance he got. Her whole face softens, touched by his sweet gesture, before she types on her phone.

That’s very thoughtful of you, thank you. Even though you shouldn’t have; apart from technology’s assistance, I’m pretty good at reading lips.

He uses his phone to reply. Yeah, I gathered that much. I just want to talk to you in your language.

The look that she gives him under her fluttering eyelashes is so tender and lovely that he can’t help but stare, a foolish grin plastered on his lips and a hot blush painted on his neck, creeping from the collar of his grey shirt.

They talk - type, to be exact, with the occasional mimic of a word or two - about everything and nothing, fast thumbs trying to keep up with their effortless conversation on the notifications’ section of their phones. He learns about her childhood in Winden, her hellish pranks to her older sister Franziska, her loving parents that separated when she was a preteen but never stopped caring about each other or being there for their daughters. She talks about her hometown friends and her honor roll high school experience, moving to Berlin to attend university and falling in love with the lively vibe of the city, getting her Master’s in Energy Engineering and recently landing her first job on the field at the Tiedemann Enterprises, a very prestige corporation in the industry of renewable energy. She’s still particularly excited about this, being part of a team of researchers thriving to improve energy efficiency based on an environmental friendly strategy.

Noah tells her about his memories as a young boy in Vechta, how he lost his mother when he was only six, due to complications while giving birth to his sister, how his father was never really in the picture after that tragic incident. How the local church and especially Sic Mundus, a church based organization for neglected children and troubled teens, contributed to his and Agnes’ well-being and education, helping him land a university scholarship and get a job, so he could afford moving his sister to Berlin, too, after he got his bachelor degree, and offering her a more stable living situation and a normal life. How, apparently, his aptitude for the humanities and his upbringing in a religious environment drove him to follow an academic career in religious studies, a field that he finds beyond interesting, especially its anthropology aspect.

Somewhere along the conversation, too absorbed into their own little world to register the fewer people in the bar and the clock ticking towards closing time, his hand, as if it has a mind of its own, slides slowly over the wooden top of the bar, her slender fingers meeting his hesitant approach halfway. They’re barely touching but it’s electrifying, the feeling of even an inch of his skin against her skin so exhilarating and powerful, like the impact of meteors colliding or the universe exploding into pieces. It feels like a Déjà vu, like a glitch in the Matrix, like they know each other from the past or recognize each other from their future. It’s a feeling both of them kept seeking, a feeling that they silently vow never to lose.

Noah pays for the drinks, despite her objections, and Elisabeth insists that, next time, the bill is on her. He smirks, a tad tipsy on the whiskey, a lot tipsy on her, and teases her that he must have done something right, because this is the first time a girl agrees on a second date with him this fast. She just shrugs, a cheeky smirk playing on her lip-glossed lips, as she types, if I left it up to you, we’d still be on the PG-13 “good morning” texts. He laughs, an effortless, loud laugh and he catches her staring - no, not staring, checking him out - the corner of her longing smile trapped between her teeth. He fights the insane urge to kiss her senseless right here in this empty bar with the bartender mentally plotting their death for keeping him past his shift.

He accompanies her to the U-Bahn station and his heart skips a heartbeat at the prospect of sharing ten more minutes with her, according to the information display over their heads. She wishes him to have fun in Dresden and he confesses that he wishes he could stay here, to spend the weekend with you, he wants to add but refrains, in fear of confessing too much too fast. Instead, he tells her that he had an amazing night and he’s so relieved and purely happy when she nods vigorously in agreement, her low ponytail bobbing lightly and her beautiful face radiating even under the harsh fluorescent light of the station. The atmosphere around them is suddenly very charged, their bodies gravitating towards each other, and their eyes engage in a stare off that speaks volumes and holds so much unresolved tension. He can hear the bright yellow train approaching and his breath quickens as he takes a brave step forward, invades her personal space, and his eyes declare defeat, falling to her lips. He’s the one to kiss her this time, a soft peck that turns into a needy battle of dominance when she melts into his arms and angles her face to kiss him more, deeper, hungry mouths dancing together in passion, his shoulders hunching over her smaller figure, his hands cradling her cheeks. Her own hands sneak under his coat and suit jacket, delivering a heavy caress over the material of his shirt before she closes her arms around his waist, Noah letting a trembling exhale into the kiss and his lips forming a lazy smirk against her giggling ones. Smugly, Elisabeth tugs lightly at his lower lip with her teeth, a naughty essence to the playful action, and this fuels another round of heated kissing, their bodies pushing and pulling, their heavy PDA a thing they’ll be embarrassed for in the morning. For tonight, though, they’re just two people getting drunk on each other in the middle of a train station, as if tomorrow will be the end of world and they’ll cease to exist.

When they pull back for air her lips are lipgloss-free and her eyelids, still closed, are fluttering over scarlet cheekbones. Noah has never witnessed a most beautiful sight in his life.

Elisabeth gets on the train with a dazed and dazzling smile, promising to text him when she arrives at her apartment. They refuse to let go of each other’s eyes until the train vanishes into the dark tunnel and Noah is left there, on the empty station, a finger reaching to his lips, not quite believing that the fruity taste of lipgloss that still lingers in his mouth or the woman whose lips left their trace behind are real and not a product of his wildest fantasies. There’s an extra hop in his steps as he walks up the stairs to catch the train to the opposite direction, boarding the vehicle at the last minute and sliding quickly on a seat, lovesick smile intact and a newfound feeling of contentment and thrill nested in his chest.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and types, unable to wait any longer.

I get back early on Sunday. Would you like to have dinner with me?

Elisabeth & Noah in the origin world (1/?)

First meeting

Noah doesn’t want to go. Weddings and their big, loud extravaganza aren’t really his style. But Jonas is a longtime colleague and a good friend, one of the few he obtained through the years, so, he makes an effort. He dresses up nicely, wishes the newlyweds wholeheartedly to have a good life and decides to stay a respectable amount of time, before he can politely excuse himself. It is an open bar, after all, it would be a shame not to enjoy a drink or two. 

The surprise of the night is neither the embarrassing speeches from Martha’s brothers nor Jonas’ awful dance moves. It’s the blonde beauty, that seems to be pulling him like a magnet, like no one else exists but her in the otherwise crowded room. He can’t take his eyes off her, he can’t move, he can’t even breathe. All he can do is keep stealing glances of her, of her curly blonde hair, of her red lips, of her pretty dress that highlights her figure and reveals her long, killer legs. She’s stunning and, for the first time, he finds himself at a loss of words.

He is quick to look away when she finally catches up on his stare. That was so disrespectful, you idiot, now you creeped her out, he mentally scolds his socially awkward self. But she gives him a curious once-over and then a look, so confident, so bold, an open invitation for him to flirt with her properly, her clever eyes and the little tilt of her head asking him “so, you’re just gonna sit there and stare?”. She makes him nervous and tongue-tied but, at the same time, a rush of excitement spreads through his nerve endings, and, even though he has never been this spontaneous or brave regarding love and past relationships, he manages to swallow his reserved demeanor and smile at her.

By the third drink, he is walking up to her.

By the forth, he is mimicing words, trying to tell her that he is really enjoying her company, for the first time cursing himself for opting out of that sign language course during sophomore year in college.

By the fifth, he is typing an array of Zzz emoji’s - he didn’t even know they existed - on his phone, after she typed “what would you be doing this Saturday night, if you weren’t here?”. She laughs, scrunching her nose, all youthful and cute, and he is sure his face resembles that heart-eyes emoji. 

By the sixth, he is dancing to some 80′s song, not actually listening to it, just feeling the beat thud inside his chest, like she suggested, watching mesmerized her tulle skirt sway under the flickering lights, as she dances around in circles.

By the nth, she is pushing him out the backdoor of the venue and kissing him, breathless and bruising, her fingers pulling at his tie and his ruining her updo, getting lost inside a sea of blonde curls. When she goes back inside, with a wink and a wave, he is left there trying to find his footing back into the world and slow down his racing heart, an imprint of gin and red lipstick on his grinning lips.

His phone vibrates inside the pocket of his suit jacket. The notification informs him of a new message:

I guess your Saturday night ended up being way better than you imagined x

He saves the contact and spends the rest of the night tasting her name on his lips; Elisabeth.