Nicholas’s bird.

Nicholas wasn’t a saint, he did not sing merry songs when i came to his table — switching the music from Tony Braxton, How Could an Angel Break My Heart to Tony Braxton, Breathe Again.

“Breathe again, breathe again,” I tasted the sound of it, “breathe again, breathe again.” It tasted fine, my voice of course, was not as sweet as Tony’s maybe, but it tasted fine, i had repeated the chorus, it tasted finer every time.

Until Andrea gave me a marah look.

“I’m sorry Andrea. Please don’t scold me!” It was either switching the song had made Andrea mad, or, she didn’t like my singing, or, she was mad at Nicholas because i secretly thought Nicholas was pretty dumb, for not putting Tony Braxton, Breathe Again on repeat. I needed that song, i was heart broken.

Then Andrea smiled. Maybe because she secretly agreed with me that Nicholas was, indeed, pretty dumb.

I brought my eyes to Nicholas’s desk. I had a habit of touching things on people’s desk, or touching desks, or touching people — things that i liked to touch were usually things that i found pretty. Like the bird i gave to Nicholas on last year’s Christmas.

“Firdauz, why are you kissing my bird?” Nicholas had seen that, other than touching his things, i liked to kiss his bird too.