I’m restless all over again, but for very different reasons. 

My eyes keep shifting from the tv, the darkness beyond the windows, the food I’m cooking, up to the clock. No matter what I’m doing I can’t pull myself away from it’s shiny golden hands. We settled on calling at 8 and I’m going to ask if we can video call. I have half an hour.

I finish up the food and serve it to myself and my mom. She seems happy, chatting about her day at work. “I think it made my week,” she laughs, “and not having to cook on top of it? What did I do to deserve such a blessed week."

I smile back at her, happy to hear her joy. “You deserve all your weeks to be like this.” I say between eating. "Not that I'm volunteering to cook everyday."

“You’re too sweet. How are you doing, honey? I heard it got worse.”

“It did. But I think we can handle it. I’m not as worried anymore.” Saying that outloud relaxes me even more. Isaac knows now. I have one less thing to worry about.

“I’m glad. Ah, you’re so strong,” she gushes and I’m super thankful there’s a table between us because my cheeks would be in her hands right now. “Oh I ran into your dad today too, he’s planning on inviting you over soon. Said he wants to give you a break.”

A break at my dads? That sounds amazing right now, I mean, it always does. He lives in an old village surrounded by nature. One of my favourite places to go, though I have to leave my favourite Turtle behind.

“Great, I’ll message him later.”

30 minutes trickles by fast which I’m both thankful, and super nervous for. I sit at my desk, my warm lamps behind and in front of me switched on. I made sure to make my bed where it sits in view of my laptop camera. I brushed my hair and threw my favourite sweatshirt on. Then I had to brush my hair a second time. 

I open Isaac’s contact on my laptop and hover my cursor over the call icon. What if he doesn’t want me to see what he looks like? I guess that’s okay but I do really want to know.

It hits 8 o’clock and I can’t bring myself to tap the mouse pad.

20:02

20:04–I’m being ridiculous, just call!

A loud ring echoes through my room and makes me jump right out of my skin. I scramble to answer, adrenaline rushing through me. “Hello!” I cringe at how loud that was.

“Hey again.” 

I relax, happy to hear him. I take a pause to brace myself before I ask, “Do.. You want to try a video call? Since you already know what I look like.”

He hums in thought, I picture him looking around, possibly at his reflection. “We can do but… let me throw a hoodie on first. Today was super busy at work so I'm currently a mess.” He sets his phone down and I hear some shuffling. “Okay, i’m good now.”

An unexpected surge of excitement filters through me as I guide the cursor to the video icon. I’ve pictured many ways Isaac could look, never thinking I’d ever find out. The words of the article flash through my mind, brown hair, green or brown eyes? That’s the closest I’ve ever gotten, until now.

I’m the first to turn my camera on, showing my best awkward smile as I stare at the void where Isaac should be. It doesn’t take him long to join me.

The first thing I see is a muted pink surrounded in black: a hoodie is wrapped around him, soft looking and slightly hiding his messy black hair under its hood. His face is slim, eyes a soft round. Deep blue sparkles from them, drops of the calmest oceans. A mole sits between the corner of his left eye and his eyebrow, contrasted against his pale skin. He is not what I imagined.

“Wow you actually look the same as most of your photos.” He states, expression tilted upward, impressed.

I scowl at him, “Offended. You think I couldn't really be good looking, huh?”

“I already listened to Ten, you don’t need to keep bragging about yourself.” He grins. Mischief flashes through his perfectly blue eyes.

“No! Why that one! Unlisten to it, right now!” I protest against his laughs.

Then I find myself lost in the sound, my eyes taking in the joy on his face. His smile lines run deep when he laughs, his nose crinkles slightly. He said he's a mess but I can’t help enjoying the sight. The hoodie adds an extra layer of cute to him.

We get into deep talks about interesting stories in our lives–those we had kept a secret. I tell him all about my career, the new album and the concerts coming up. He tells me about his flatmates, and even where he’s studying: a neighbouring city to mine.

“Dude, that’s like less than an hour from here by train.” I say, excited.

“Oh, you’ve been here?”

“Yeah, the nightlife is great. Guess it makes sense for a high student population. I’ve played at a few bars there.”

“That’s awesome. Though I wouldn’t know about the nightlife–”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re as social as a brick.” I smile at his soft laughs. I thought this would be awkward, but it really isn’t. I can’t describe how happy I am. “Oh and what’s this about me being an owl?”

“Ah, yeah, you never replied.”

“Sorry. I was um…”

“I guess that explains why you were typing for ages but nothing came through.” He saw that? Oh my god. I feel my face heat up. If I’m blushing, he doesn’t seem to notice it. “You’re a Flammulated Owl. They just remind me of you, small yet with a weirdly deep voice and you're always up super late–”

“Hey I’m not that small! 5’6 isn’t small.” I protest, pointing a finger to my camera.

“You’re small to me.”

“Damnation.”

"You don't know what that word even means." He moves forward, resting his chin in his hand. I don't like the tormenting grin he's wearing.

"I am not as dumb as you think I am." 

"Then give me the full dictionary definition, go."

"What– I–... Don't pressure me!" I struggle, wishing we were talking in person so I could hit him–preferably with a dictionary.

“Anyway,” he continues, smiling as he explains why I, a human, am like a tiny owl in any way, shape or form. 

I listen quietly. It’s nice to read his texts filled with weird animal facts, or to see the sketches he makes of his favourites. But to hear and see him talk about it–I didn’t ever think this would happen.