Summary: A new conflict surfaces in Rory and Jess's relationship, manifested as they struggle to define themselves as adults.
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo. Nothing graphic.
Feedback: Greatly appreciated. I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.
Author's Notes: Rory's POV. This is a bit of a departure from my usual style. I hope you guys like it. I was trying for a more realistic feel than some stuff. Let me know what you think. I hope the Persian is accurate, because I don't speak it, only found it on the internet. I used as many facts as I could but obviously, some stuff is made up. The main titles and chapter titles are e.e. cummings quotes.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the other creators of the Gilmore Girls universe.
Ch. 4: teach disappearing also me the keen illimitable secret of begin
I settled myself on the couch with my cup of coffee. What do you want to know?
Jess looked up from his spot on the floor, leaning his weight against the coffee table. Concisely? Everything. He smiled and shifted his weight. But I'll settle for useful phrases.
Aren't they going to be teaching you stuff like that before you go?
He grinned mischievously. But I learn better one-on-one.
Yeah, I'll bet you do. I crossed my legs with mock ladylike precision and sipped my coffee. He gazed up at me expectantly, his eyes bright. So Persian being the most commonly spoken language in Afghanistan, it's probably the one you should learn.
He nodded, and wrote this down in the margin of the notebook open in front of him.
Lucky for you, I smiled, I happen to speak Persian.
He opened his eyes incredulously. Wow. I am lucky. His mouth quirked at the edges, betraying a smile.
Wipe that smirk off your face, young man, I ordered. He grinned. What phrases would you like to know?
He looked down at his list. How about starting with hello' and
Salaam is hello. Goodbye is khodahafez.
He repeated the words, testing the warm syllables on his tongue. Every language I'd ever learned had a different taste, and Persian to me tasted like warm incense, smooth sand and fierce winds blended with something ancient. Persian tasted like the sunlight that beats against stone walls in late afternoon.
How about please and thank you? he asked.
I watched him write it down, his mouth forming the word silently as he made notes to himself about pronunciation. And tashakor.
We continued quietly for over an hour. I refilled my coffee twice, and sat still while he filled pages of his notebook, the paper turning brittle from the letters etched into it. It amazed me, abstractly, to realize how good my Persian had become in the past few years. I still wasn't able to say everything I wanted, but my accent was decent and for conversational purposes I was very good. And it felt good to use my knowledge for a useful cause.
Can you repeat that?
Ba man biya, I said slowly. With a groan, he finished what he was writing, then stood and stretched. I put down my coffee and stood beside him. Yawning comfortably, he leaned in for a kiss, and I obliged. I allowed myself to enjoy the warmth of his body for a second before pushing him away.
You know, as your teacher, it's my duty to inform you that your accent is awful. I laughed as he kissed me again.
Where's Faith? His breath tickled my ear.
He started kissing my neck, his hands finding the hem of my shirt.
Sometimes she gets out early though. I shrieked as he suddenly scooped me up, one arm around my back and the other under my legs. Jess, careful! I cried, as he started for the bedroom. He let my legs drop, and I was glad. We were nearly the same height, and I wasn't sure if he could actually carry me. When he tried to pull me towards my room, I hung onto my willpower and resisted. We actually have to keep working. You leave in three weeks! The statement had a sobering effect on both of us.
He picked up his notebook and sat down across from me again. Our gaze locked for a second, and in that time I saw a million emotions reflected in his eyes. He chewed on the cap of his pen for a minute, reflectively. How would one say I love you'?
I knew what he was trying to express. It was an apology for leaving, a reassurance about his intentions, a communication of what feelings he kept hidden in his heart. I looked down, studied my hands, then raised my eyes to his face. His expression was intense, patient and scared at once. I released the breath I was holding and said softly, conveying with the words my own feelings, Duset daram.