Gemotions

The clatter of pots and pans usually meant dinner was in progress. But today, the sound was different. It was accompanied by the unfamiliar cadence of spoken Vietnamese. Mark, cautiously, poked his head into the kitchen. There was Linh, carefully chopping vegetables, a small notebook propped up against a spice rack. Her eyes widened, and she laughed.

Mark just stared, a grin slowly, uncontrollably, spreading across his face. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to do a little jig.

He moved into the kitchen and sat at the table. He listened as she talked in her new language, a blend of awkwardness and determination in her voice. He felt a warm flush creep up his neck. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand. "Tell me again," he said, his voice husky. He watched her face light up as she spoke to him in Vietnamese.