He told her a story when she wasn't looking.
She was watching contrails in the sky,
Criss crossing the pale blue,
Merging with clouds
And each other
To form foamy, cumulous words.
She would never remember what the story was about:
There was a girl,
And a moon,
And something about tides,
But it came from no where,
Caught her off guard,
And was over
Before she realized the sky was all in Mandarin.

She turned to look at him,
Saw how the vaulted reflection
Turned his grey eyes periwinkle.
"What?" she asked.
"Hmmm?" he responded looking up
(He could read Mandarin)
"It was nothing.
Just the way the sunlight was dancing in your hair."