Their eyes meet. He looks away from the mirror, says nothing, turns his hands on the wheel and tears away from the curb a moment later, back into the artificially lit streets. It is unusually dark in the cab.
He weaves in and out of late-late night traffic for several minutes before letting it be known he knows her, this petite shadow of a woman in the back seat of taxi-cab at 3:30 in the morning. It is a slow recognition - the night bathes her, the dark clings to her, but it is a gentle shadow that basks her face, and he knows that face, even if his own may be different from their last meeting.
He lifts a hand as he swerves into the far left lane, almost grazing another taxi. It's okay, though - it's from a different cab company. The music is turned down only a touch, so that his voice can be heard over the din. Just barely.
"You." Is all he offers. Hati is not as well-spoken as his brother, in many ways. And in many other ways, he remembers more of lost words and ways of speaking than the sun-chaser.