Falling in Love, In Fall

Mazhar al Maram gazed out into the orchard at the truly enchanting sight of the apple trees ablaze with the colors of fall. The leaves were enchanting, each one a brushstroke of bold color against the canvas of the slate grey sky. They danced and glistened as the wind whipped through them, the slight drizzle coating each leaf in a glimmering layer of water that flew from the canopy in glittering waves. A drop hits their nose, startling them out of their trance like state and pushing them back to the repetitive task at hand.

Move to a tree, and gaze into the spiral of branches that held a warm kaleidoscope of leaves. Find the last apples of the season, the ones that have survived first frost. Pick them, red yellow and green gems in a simple woven basket. Don’t admire them too long or they will capture your mind in their color and weight. Don’t think on how you could take them, take their color and shapes, the simple beauty of their thin, yet sturdy stems and leaves and translate it into a trinket. A trinket for Brecht.

Mazhar shook their head slightly, pulling their attention back to the trees. They weren’t sure when they had started falling for the other bean, but it had crept up on them like the slow cold of fall, and then crept over them all at once like the cold snap of a first frost. At first they had thought it must have been something else. They were just very good friends, surely. Very good, very close friends. They were certain of it.

After all, they had never had feelings for another bean. When others gushed about love and partners they simply couldn’t wrap their head around the idea. They felt love for things, sure. They loved their craft, warping metals into the shape of beautiful things, finding ways to mirror a sunset in jewels and enamels, carefully carving the smallest whimsical scenes into being, and finishing it all off with just the slightest touch of enchantment to make everything sparkle just a little brighter.

They loved to watch the whimsy it brought to other beans, to open a simple box only to see a tiny theater, or a whole ballet in their palm, dancing to the twinkling sound of a tiny orchestra. Nothing made them happier than watching the eyes of others light up with glee and wonder, and something that was usually reserved only for children opening a present. They knew something was different when they Brecht had opened one of their eggs at Easter. When his eyes lit up, Mazhar’s heart nearly lept out of his chest. His eyes had glown warmer than the finest rubies, glittered brighter than the best diamonds, and glistened better than the most refined rose gold. It was at that point that Mazhar realized that they must be falling for him.

There was no other explanation for the smiles that spread across their face just at the thought of the orange bean. Every cloud reminded them of his halo, every bird of his wingbeat, and every gem of his glittering scales. They had sat together one evening, him sketching and Mazhar supposedly reading. In reality, he had simply watched the way the golden twilight struck his face, sparkling over his cheeks and setting fire to his eyes. They didn’t know how long that had sat there, admiring the other bean and thinking of ways to capture their beauty.

They had gone to their workshop later and worked well into the next day trying and failing to create something that could live up to the other bean, but never came close. After that, they resolved that while they may not be able to catch their vision, they could at least try their hardest to make his eyes light up again as they had before. Every day since then, Mazhar had ventured out across Prism Vale in search of inspiration and the finest materials they could gather.

Today, he had taken a small break to come out and pick apples with none other than Brecht. As they stare at the apples in their basket, the orange bean starles them back to the present by sneaking up behind them and grabbing their shoulders.

“Boo!” Mazhar stumbles forward, grabbing their heart before turning and cracking a smile that was becoming less and less rare in this company.

“Haha, I gotchya!”

“You did at that.” Mazhar chuckles, readjusting their apple basket. Brecht giggles, Mazhar very aware of the hand that lingered on their shoulder.

“What are you doing anyways? You’ve just been floating over here staring at your basket for ages!” Mazhar shrugs, holding up the basket.

“Just looking at the apples.” Brecht hums, smiling.

“Yeah? Me too. I think they’re awfully purty. The trees look really good against the sky too. Makes me wanna draw. You thinkin’ about making something?” Mazhar nods, pulling out one particularly red apple.

“Yes, I was.” Brecht smiles wide, gesturing to a basket behind him. “I was thinking we should go and make some apple pie with them!” Mazhar nods, then frowns slightly.

“Can you bake?”

“Nope, not a bit! Can you?” Mazhar shrugs.

“I suppose we shall find out."

----- oOo -----

Brecht counted as he folded another layer of butter into the pie crust, flattening iit until he could put in another. He smiled as he listened to Mazhar hum absentmindedly beside him. He kept humming a few notes, then stringing together new combinations. He could tell that the other bean was trying to compose something new, probably for one of their beautiful music boxes or other intricate creations.

The beans work fascinated him, and he could never wait to see what they would think of next. He loves to watch them work, their hands barely flitting over the tiny facets of their carvings, gently assembling wires and gears into the ornate outer shells. Their eyes always looked so deep as they stared into the bits and pieces on their workbench, seeing the final piece and not the array of parts that he saw.

He wasn’t sure when, but at some point, his admiration for the other bean’s skill and dedication had turned into something more, something he hadn’t been able to put his finger on for some time. It was only when he elicited a rare smile from the craftsman and felt his stomach dissolve into a swarm of butterflies that he realized. He was in love with the quiet, understated bean. He couldn’t understand how others could take them for cold and distant. All he saw was a beautiful bean, lost in the world of their imagination and creations , but so very kind and caring.

As much as he admired the other bean’s love for their work, he sometimes wished that he could have some of that love. He contemplated the thought as he crimped the pie crust’s edges around the pan, wondering if there was any way the other bean thought of him as something more than a friend.