He Was A Skaterboy | COMPLETE

twelve

Emre kicked the random pebble on the paved road willing for his time with her to somehow pause, right here right now. He sneaked at glance at her, as she walked next to him bumping into him occasionally as they walked towards her house.

"Hey, question: why does your dad call your mum hayatim? I know hayat kinda means life in Urdu. Does it mean the same thing in Turkish?" she asked, her dark eyes glowing with a need to know more as she looked up at him.

"Yeah, it means 'my life'...I think something bad happened before the came to America. Dad, he...he never wants to talk about it...you know, about life before America, so I guess, we've all just stopped asking," Emre shrugged, watching Kiara nod her head thoughtfully.

"Hayatim," she repeats the word to herself in a whisper. She sighed deeply, "I love your parents. They are kinda amazing..."

Emre thought back to the way Kiara was shocked to know that the breakfast place that he was taking her to was actually his parents' bakery. They churn out hundreds of delicate pastries, decadent cakes, hearty breads, and elegant quiches for those hipster café boutiques all over New York each morning. Those small pop ups that didn't have space for a functioning kitchen let alone ovens. It was hard but honest work and more importantly both his parents took pride in everything they produced. Every single bag of flour, sugar, butter, even fruit was meticulously selected by them.

He will never forget the utter shock on both their faces when he sauntered in with Kiara trailing behind him with her wide eyed, nervous smile. He never told her that his mom and dad would be there; he knew she would have refused meeting them judging by the glares she kept shooting him covertly. He watched calmly as his mother tripped over her feet to get to Kiara shooting him questions in Turkish about their relationship and beaming as she spoke to Kiara in English. He knew by the apprehensive look from his father that he was bound to receive a lecture later at home, but he will bear it happily.

He didn't know why he took her there; he could have easily taken her elsewhere. But he did promise her the best breakfast, and nothing could beat the mouthwatering delicacies that came out from his mother's kitchen. He watched as Kiara carefully selected a salted Dulce de Leche cronut, her brows twisted in concentration. She had mumbled something to his father about liking the combination of sweet and salty before she took a bite into the cronut. Her eyes had fluttered shut in pleasure as she savoured the pastry. His throat constricted as she ate with slow movements licking her lips and sucking her fingers, relishing in the taste of the flaky, buttery pastry as though not wanting to waste even a flake of the cronut.

His mother had poured them some Turkish tea and they had sat crammed together around the small table tucked away at the corner of the bakery and chatted. He loved watching his mother fawn over Kiara; like she had known instinctively that Kiara was something special. Someone special.

Even his father had loosened up a bit as they talked. Kiara had managed to charm his rather reserved and quiet father into talking and chuckling with her. She had wielded her naturally happy disposition as a weapon and further embedded herself into his world unknowingly. And he could finally admit it to himself that Kiara was something more than a crush. She was so much more.

"Yeah, they are amazing," a hint of pride in his voice as he thought about how they had worked so hard their whole life for their children.

"And they are still so in love with each other," she sighed dreamily.