Flower

The curse was in her tongue, the most difficult of all to remove.

Fakir had almost forgotten of its existence entirely when Ahiru regained her human form once again. But he was reminded one day when she crept up behind him as he was working at his desk and sheepishly asked about it. Princess Tutu's curse, she wondered aloud. Did it still apply to her, as a girl and after so many years since the story ended? Would she still disappear if she ever were to confess her feelings?

Fakir had stilled in his seat, silently chastising himself for ever letting it slip his mind. Though hopefully it wasn't something that would be too difficult to research and write about. But at the same time he didn't immediately understand what would prompt Ahiru to suddenly bring it up out of the blue—

Oh.

Oh.

Abruptly turning the shade of a beet, Fakir turned back to his desk and stammered that he'd do some digging and find out. She needn't worry, he assured. If the time ever arose where she'd want to confess feelings of love… he'd make sure she could.

Fakir spent nearly a month holed up in the library. He researched every story that featured a curse, every prince turned into a frog, every princess put under a sleeping spell. Many were solved with true love's kiss (a notion that left his ears burning red), but for all he slaved and researched, the fact of the matter was that no one in the stories ever escaped from them. What may have worked inside may not hold the same principles in the real world.

There were no solutions.

When Fakir finally broke the news to Ahiru some weeks later, his heart clenched at the way her face fell. If she were to live with the curse forever, then never would she be able to confess her love… not even once. Her blue eyes held back tears as Ahiru shakily thanked him for going through all the trouble for her, and it was that smallest crack in her voice that led him to his decision.

Before she could turn around and withdraw to the privacy of her room, Fakir reached out and grasped her hand, squeezing.

If you can't ever say it, he promised, his heart pounding, then neither will I.

Ahiru really did begin to start crying then, but not out of sadness.

As their relationship blossomed, they began to look for new ways to express their feelings for one another while never once permitting themselves to utter those three words.

Ahiru turned around one day to find Fakir positioned with his hands cupping over his heart, and she beamed brightly as she reciprocated the gesture before he initiated a pas de deux. She could feel his love in the gentle yet strong way he held and guided her, and he could see it in her sparkling eyes as she gazed up to him.

They didn't stick with strictly only using ballet and mimes. There were many ways to convey love, and Ahiru wanted to find all of them. It was there in the language of his expressions, the way he would come home with bread fresh from the bakery, the way he would wake up at the crack of dawn right along with her to feed the birds. One day a passing traveler taught them a few words from Gebärdensprache – the German sign language, and Fakir and Ahiru took to signing the words they needed to each other as they passed in the academy hallways.

But as much as they improvised, sometimes Ahiru still felt that guilty ache. Fakir understood the reason, of course, but he could never understand the feeling. His stance to never verbally speak those words was a choice on his part. Ahiru's wasn't.

Her tongue was a bird that wanted to escape from its cage, but would immediately be shot down were it ever to fly. And while she was happy, so very happy, that even if the words were taken from her she still had those feelings, sometimes it bubbled up in a frustration that needed an outlet. Every once in a while Fakir would find her asleep at her desk in the late night, a few loose parchments scattered over the surface. She wasn't a Writer, not like him, but he knew as he skimmed over her work that she wasn't writing a story.

I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you so much, Fakir.

His expression would soften as he gently scooped her up in his arms and tucked her into bed. In times like this, the most he could do was stay by her side, just as he promised.

One day Fakir waited for her by the sidelines with a single red rose in his hands, watching as the intermediate class finished their final performance of the season. Ahiru's face shined when she spotted him, and bounded straight over to greet him despite her aching feet and sore muscles, breathing heavily. He congratulated her with a smile and presented her the flower.

As she took it gingerly, he went on to explain that even flowers could hold meanings. Red roses, for example, meant love. And not just those; there were many other flowers that meant different kinds of love. Roses, carnations, tulips, primroses… he could make an entire bouquet for her one day, made of nothing but how much he loved her.

Ahiru blinked and blushed. Every opportunity Fakir found to express his love, he always took. It gave her butterflies, and she thanked him while holding the single flower close to her heart. She had no idea, she admitted, of just how many ways there were to convey special feelings.

Fakir nodded, reaching out to cup her cheek. So you see? he said quietly. It's not the end of the world if we can't speak it.

She tilted her head in to his touch, understanding. He was right. When he could make her so lightheaded just from a flower, she didn't feel so locked up anymore.

And Fakir leaned in to once again convey his love for her, in Ahiru's favorite way.