There was a visible rise and fall in the drummer’s throat, the knot of his Adam’s Apple bobbing clearly (nervously?). He accepted the note as though it were incendiary; his fingers closing on the paper with flicker of detectable hesitation. Brodie struck Nayan as a dreamer, orbiting other planets of thought and touching down briefly in the midst of things. Caught of guard. Nayan was perhaps catching him off guard. That said, for the brief moment both their fingers grasped the paper Nayan was stuck by the strongest impression there was some kind of unfathomable current running through it. A ghost of pressure so transitory by the time Brodie mentioned his birthday, Nayan had forgotten it.
“Happy birthday,” he said with a congratulatory smile, kneeling down to pick up his shoes. “See if you can’t wring your bandmates for all the birthday benefits you can.” He gave Brodie an encouraging grin, the crooked one that set a deep crease at the left hand corner of his mouth. Then checked his watch briefly. It wasn’t that he had anywhere to go, but rather he felt it was just the time to leave. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Brodie. Hope to see you soon.” He waved as he walked away, the morning sun on the desk warm on his bare feet, and was careful not to look back because he felt certain if he looked back, he’d catch Brodie’s gaze – absent and blue – following him away.