A Question on Love

Chapter Three: Reactions

After an elongated moment, filled with lighthearted conversation and several kisses, Keyuri convinced Francisco to let her head home. He acquiesced, only with the condition that he walk her home like a proper gentleman. Her arm in his, as the trend was between them, Keyuri listened to the soft sounds of the suburbs, cars humming past and dogs barking at nothing in particular. Children were rare these days, as she supposed it was in all towns, and only sometimes did she see other people walking along the sidewalks. In most senses of the word, the pair of them were just as alone here as they had been in his house.

"So, I have this idea," Francisco began with a gentle pat on Keyuri's hand, the two of them still walking at a leisurely pace. "How about we go away for a weekend sometime? I mean, in the future. When you're comfortable."

"Oh, well, sure. Though, the only time that's good for me would probably be winter or summer break. I have a lot of class work, not to mention my thesis."

Francisco gave a sidelong glance to her, a smile ready like a weapon.

"That's perfectly acceptable. I suppose it would be no good if you fell behind on your studies."

"No, no it wouldn't," she laughed. "I may not know what's in my future, but I do know that I have work I want to accomplish."

His hand rested over hers, warm and gentle, an assured smile spreading across his features.

"And what is it that you want to accomplish?"

"I want to continue my father's work," she stated with confidence, "and do something good with it. Papa... Papa died too soon. I might not be the best person to do it, but no one will if I don't. He... he had always thought philosophy could be more than just an academic subject."

Francisco nodded slightly, tilting his body towards her.

"You finished his last book, if I remember correctly?"

It was Keyuri's turn to nod, though there was a shyness in her movements.

"Y-yes. You, umm, did you read it?"

"Oh no, I just heard about it. It was nominated for an award, if I remember correctly? The Wittgenstein-Preis?"

Immediately, she blushed and looked away. She did not really enjoy being reminded of it--the Wittgenstein-Preis was the highest award one could receive in the field of science (in her and her father's case, linguistics and the philosophy of). Her father had first been nominated when he was alive, as he had been in Vienna on a research grant before he became ill. Myca had only told her that her father's book (which was the culmination of that research) was "under consideration" for some posthumous honor. The Wittgenstein-Pries was just one of a number of possibilities.

Just as she was about to gather the courage to respond, she found that they were now at her house, an English-style home of red brick and white wood. She gazed at the gauzy yellow curtains in the windows, wondering if Myca was still home. The past year, living with him, she had never considered that perhaps Myca had other reasons than obligation to stay with her. He had been at her father's funeral, but they had not really met until he had come to the house that day. She remembered she had thought he was so beautiful...

Arms wrapped around Keyuri and forced her back to the present. When she looked up, it was not Myca's stormy blue eyes in her vision, but the dark chocolate of Francisco's.

"What are you thinking about, my dearest?"

"Oh, it's just my house. I've spent most of my life here. Lots of memories." She hoped she sounded convincing enough.