The weeks came and went, relentless in their march. As was the nature of such things, with them came ebbs and flows.
Some days were a downpour of customers, enough that even with Asha's assistance it was impossible to do anything other than trying to stem the unyielding flow of questions, purchases, and complaints. Other days they were free to their own pursuits, sharing an oasis from the rest of humanity.
Some days Shireen's body attacked her with pain so terrible that it felt as though her medication did nothing at all, and she spent more of her shift trying not to burst into tears than she did getting anything done. Other days the pain was barely noticeable, to the point where a part of her began to nag that any accommodations she received for her disability were an unneeded luxury.
What did not change, day in and day out, was Asha. She came into work at the same time, and while her attire was not static, the pattern of yellow and black continued. Shireen would have wondered if she was stretching her apparently meagre budget, buying new clothes to fit the theme commented on the day they met, were it not for how often she repeated the same articles of clothing in new combinations.
(That Shireen herself dressed to fit the pattern as well was nothing but a coincidence, a happenstance of what her mood decided on each morning, and nothing else.)
Asha's smile stayed the same, so sharp that at times Shireen wondered if it was in fact a weapon brandished without care for who it was being pointed at. In fact, 'without care' seemed to fit the woman rather well. It described the way in which she shared opinions, told jokes, and flirted at Shireen.
One particular day's lunch break, Shireen finally voiced the question that had nagged at her for some time. "What exactly is it that you're studying?"
"Social work," Asha replied around the bite of sandwich in her mouth. The protests regarding taking any of Shireen's food had long since stopped.
Having expected an answer such as 'literature' or 'not sure yet', the response given took Shireen by surprise. "Why exactly would that require studying an epistolary novel that most Literature professors have never heard of?"
Asha shrugged. "You'd be surprised, if you dig under the boring flowery language, it's a pretty scathing indictment of the leftovers of feudalism and the way it's still influencing class structures today. Well, I say today, but the book is old as fuck so some of what's going on there isn't relevant. Most of it is though, because 'fuck the smallfolk' is a pretty clasic tune that the rich won't stop singing."
"Fascinating analysis," Shireen replied honestly, not having expected something like that from Asha, "and yet it is not an answer to the question I asked."
The other girl barked out a laugh. "Straight to the point as always." Shireen flushed. Despite the fact that Asha had not made the remark in a demeaning way, Shireen was all too used to others chiding her on her lack of proper decorum. "It's not a required class, I just had to take some kinda lit subject to round out my credits. I thought '18th Century Novels, that professor could probably use the students' and it didn't sound awful, so I took it."
After considering and disregarding the idea of moving the conversation on without speaking her mind on the subject, Shireen revealed, "I've heard of those broad unnecessary subject requirements, but I doubt as many people pick classes the way you have. Most are likely to go with the course they feel would be the simplest."
"Heard of?" Wiping her mouth free of crumbs with the sleeve of the yellow hoodie she was wearing, Asha raised an eyebrow. "You haven't done the whole university thing?" It was clear she found that rather odd.
Shireen ignored the stab of frustration she felt at Asha's surprise. "Yes. I've attempted it on more than one occasion, but it seems they struggle to accommodate a person with my difficulties."
Most would have seen the greyscale scars marring one side of her face and neck, assumed they were the cause, and given her pity. As though such a thing did anything but remind her of the wall separating her experience and that of the majority of people around her each day.
"Fuckers," Asha spat. "I'd love to see one of the money-munching do-nothings who set the guidelines actually try to get a degree under the constraints that force eggheads like you out of their schools. That, or be boiled in their own piss, either works.
The sheer bile in Asha's tone stunned Shireen. Her personal estimation of Asha rose by several degrees. "I would much prefer the former to the latter, but the sentiment is appreciated," Shireen told her, once she finally regained the use of her tongue.
Taking the small amount of trash they'd accumulated during their meal to throw away, Asha nodded. "I don't feel like you need to hear me saying this, but who gives a fuck if you don't have some fancy piece of paper. Anyone who can't tell you're a genius isn't worth your time, pretty lady."
Thump, thump, thump.
As lunch ended and they went back to their respective tasks, Shireen chewed on Asha's words, looking down at herself.
She had long since past the phase where she was constantly bemoaning the way she looked. Those emotions had settled into a simmering discontent, something she was easily able to ignore in her day to day life.
At least, that was the case, up until a willowy woman decided that flirting with Shireen was a normal part of conversation.
As far as Shireen understood the concept of attraction, which was not well at all, she knew it was a subjective judgement. Nonetheless, in the same way one could get a general idea for the quality of a novel by its aggregated reviews, Shireen was able to collate the words said to her and about her in regards to her appearance and form a consensus.
Namely, that she was not what most would call 'pretty'. Even taking out the effects of her calcified scarring and need for a mobility aid, her ears were larger than the expected norm, and her chin rather square.
Over time, she had developed a somewhat curvy build for her below average stature. However, that was paired with a pudginess in her midsection that her mother had routinely informed her was not what was preferred.
There was also the fact that women were apparently expected to smile as part of being attractive, and Shireen did precious little of that.
Nonetheless, after much observation and review, she had come to the conclusion that in her own way, Asha was as honest as Shireen herself, merely in a different manner. She meant every word. She was attracted to Shireen.
It was interesting, another part of what made the woman unique. Asha never pushed it in a way that made Shireen uncomfortable, or seemed to expect anything from Shireen in return for the compliments.
Which was just as well, really. Without that strange chemical reaction people called 'attraction' to tip the scales for her, the idea of choosing a potential romantic partner, should she ever decide to wade through that mire, would come from looking at it as a partnership. Asha was an interesting acquaintance, but she did not appear to possess any of the qualities that Shireen would look for in a partner.
That wasn't to say she didn't experience moments of curiosity. What would it be like, to take that step closer to someone like Asha? Unruly, she expected. Asha reeked of spontaneity, a creature of the moment. Strangely, Shireen found that wasn't something to count against her. After all, her life was rather dull, even if she enjoyed its regularity.
Nonetheless, the woman was still a hooligan. They didn't have much in common, and her father would never accept such a match. He had higher expectations of her, and Shireen wanted to meet them whenever she possibly could.
Still, the occasional daydream of being led by the hand to some secluded tavern in the backstreets of Storm's End wouldn't hurt her.
She rarely felt the desire to flex her imagination, and it could use the exercise.
Two and a half weeks after their first meeting, things shifted.
That morning, Asha showed up for work without a smile on her face. The black hoodie she was wearing was zipped up, hood on and drawn tight enough that her face barely showed. There was no greeting as Shireen let her in, no idle chit chat as they started the day.
She went straight to the book, a hollow sort of resentment clouding her features.
At first, Shireen thought nothing of it. Even someone as chipper as Asha would occasionally have a day where such emotions were subdued. It wasn't as though Shireen needed someone to talk her ear off whenever they were in the same room together.
Thump, thump, thump.
Rumble, rumble rumble.
The silence's only respite (aside from the sound of Shireen's walking stick) was the drumming of rain striking the building's roof. As was usually the case, such weather was an impediment to active business; not a single customer darkened their doorstep in the time before lunch. It also meant extra pain for Shireen, something she could bear well enough during her work day, but would exhaust her come the evening.
As they sat down for lunch, it became clear that Asha's mood had not improved. She fell into her seat and pushed away the food Shireen offered her.
"Are you sure?" Shireen frowned.
Asha gave a barely perceptible nod. She responded, voice almost inaudible thanks to the storm outside, "Not hungry." The claim was rather dubious, considering Shireen had heard her stomach growl from halfway as she passed by her not more than an hour before.
Nonetheless, Shireen accepted the statement, and ate what she could of her meal. The entire time, Asha stared at the tabletop, as though it was someone she rather disliked and would prefer leave as soon as was possible.
Eventually, Shireen found herself saying something. "How is the progress coming on the paper?"
She waited nearly a minute for her answer, to the point where she was beginning to wonder if Asha had even heard her. Asha ran a hand through her scruffy mop of black hair. "I'd rather we kept the silence going, if it's all the same to you."
Those were the last words they exchanged that day. Despite feeling a desire to reach out again, Shireen didn't. After all, Asha had said she preferred silence, and who was Shireen to fill it unnecessarily?
Asha left in as dark a mood as she arrived in, and Shireen was left on her way home for the weekend to consider the strange pit in her stomach. Her behaviour hadn't simply been atypical, it was causing Shireen stress just thinking about it, a feeling that only grew with time and distance. It wasn't until she'd reached the front door to her home that she realised just how concerned she was over Asha's well being.
Shireen was a woman who enjoyed the quiet. Who had specifically crafted a daily life for herself that allowed as little social interaction as possible. What helped so many others thrive was draining for her.
There was nothing comfortable about the silence she'd walked through all day. It was an unnatural thing, and she quietly wished to see Asha's smile when they next saw each other.