It's Not What It Looks Like

ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ | ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙᴇɴᴇꜰɪᴛꜱ

Mena lets this play out, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

"So? What's the conclusion, doc.?"

"Not good."

Mena raises an eyebrow.

"No?"

She says it teasingly, but Silena is one hundred per cent serious as she shakes her head.

"Too small," she explains.

Mena looks down at her free hand, complete with the colorful rings and lilac nail polish.

"Oh, come on. They're not that small."

Silena changes the position of their hands in response, so that they are no longer intertwined, but instead standing palm to palm. Silena's is several shades paler than Mena's, and indisputably larger.

"Too small," Silena repeats.

"Fine," Mena concedes, rolling her eyes. "Can I look at yours?"

Without even a moment of deliberation, Silena readily outstretches her entire arm across the table. Mena huffs a laugh, giving her fake girlfriend a significant look before taking hold of her palm. Then, she begins to gently run her finger across it, feigning utmost concentration.

Silena curiously looks at the invisible lines Mena seems to be drawing.

"What are you doing?"

"Reading your palm," Mena says, even though she doesn't actually know how to do that. She has, however, seen enough movies to get the general idea of what she probably should be doing.

"Hm. Interesting."

Silena's eyes widen. She's incredibly ingenuous in this state, and it's almost too endearing.

"What's it say?" she whispers, leaning in.

Her hair falls over her face at the movement, and Mena impulsively reaches out to brush it behind her ear. When Silena looks up to meet her eyes Mena clears her throat, letting her hand fall down from Silena's hair.

"Sorry," she says, "Eldest cousin impulse."

But Silena is still looking at her, blue eyes perfectly clear. Under the dim lights, she is as pretty and as tranquil as an oil painting, and just as distant. No matter how hard she looks, Mena can't decipher the meaning of the unwavering calmness of her gaze.

"It's fine," Silena finally says. Her voice is so soft it cuts. She lifts up her hand again. "So? What's it say?"

Oh.

That's right. They had been doing something. Mena shakes her head free of the confusing thoughts, and looks down at the offered hand.

"It says..." she draws it out, building the dramatic tension. "Hm."

"What?"

"It says that you're really into palm readers."

Silena blinks, pulling her hand out of Mena's hold and near her own chest. She looks at it closely, as though she's expecting to find those precise words tattooed on her skin.

"Woah," she finally says, much like the emperor looking at his new clothes. "Where'd you see that?"

"Well, you can't see it," Mena elaborates. She leans back in her seat with a satisfied smirk. "You don't speak the language of hands."

Silena meets her eyes.

"And you do?"

It sounds like one of her usual dry quips, except it is now devoid of any sarcasm, and is instead overflowing with genuine curiosity. Mena can't help but smile.