“open your hand”, she says.
“hmm?” he looks up at her from the book he’s reading from across the dining table, his face scrunching up at the peaceful silence between them suddenly breaking.
“open your hand,” she repeats, “and close your eyes whilst you’re at it.”
and she’s looking at him, pointedly, in the way only she can. her face is half mirth, her lips turned upwards into a small smile, but her eyebrows are arching sharply at him, and isak told even once, before, about this look that sana gets. “you just do as she says when she gives you that look. don’t fuck with her.” isak had said.
so even doesn’t. he simply closes the book and places it on the table, looking at sana across from him, studiously. he’s trying to decipher. trying to read her. even’s good at reading people, or so he’s been told often. but sana? she remains a mystery, an enigma. you don’t quite know what to get with her.
“do you not trust me?” she says, and now she’s smirking. and … see? this is what even means. how does she just … know?
but that’s besides the point. “of course, i trust you,” even says, and he’s not lying. he trusts sana. he trusts her in a way that says i feel at peace around you. which is to say, i feel good around you. which is to say, i feel my best around you.
“open your hand, then. and close your eyes.”
and so he does. he stretches out his hand, and shuts his eyes. he trusts sana. he trusts her enough to know she won’t ever hurt him, or harm him. but that doesn’t stop the little niggling feeling that’s growing in his chest about what she’s going to do next.
he suddenly feels something … cold, in his hands. not ice cold, but, cold. and his instant reflex is to rub his thumb over the - oh, object - that fits snug within the palm of his hands.
the thing feels smooth, so even guesses it must have a glossy finish, a shine, a gleam to it. and its attached onto something. and there’s several of them, one by one, one after the other. marbles?
“any idea what it is?” he hears sana ask him, but her voice isn’t filled with mischief anymore. it’d oddly quiet, mystified, low … almost like she’s watching him so, so carefully.
even gives the object? marbles? another inspection. marbles … why would sana give him marbles? but then he realises that these marbles are attached onto a long piece of string, no, wool, and he wraps the marbles attached onto the wool around his hand, and uses his thumb to flick each marble past him, one by one -
even gasps. he gasps because he knows. he knows what this is.
“can i open my eyes?”
and he looks at sana, and she’s looking at him with so much, pride. that’s what it is. pride. because he knows, that she knows, that he knows what it is.
it’s an emerald green against his skin, the beads. the prayer beads. and they gleam, and reflect the light that bounces off them. they shine. and even closes his hands around them, clutches onto them.
“we can learn the words later, if you like. there’s no rush. not this time.” sana says, and even’s looking back up at her again, with a sparkle in his eyes. a renewed hope.
and again, sana just, knows. he didn’t even need to voice his thoughts out loud, since sana was here now, and had already silenced them.