The morning air was cool against my covered face, filtering through the fabric in gentle waves. The streets were quiet at this hour—only a few early risers out walking, an elderly man doing stretching in a small park, a woman sweeping her front porch. The scooter's engine rattled beneath us, steady despite its protests, creating a rhythm that was almost hypnotic.
Putt-putt-putt... wheeze... putt-putt-putt...
I held onto Laura's waist, feeling the strange comfort of being close to someone who felt solid, reliable. Real. My mind wandered, questions bubbling up that I'd been too nervous to ask before, too uncertain of my place in this strange new arrangement.
The covering cloth fluttered slightly in the wind of our passage, but held firm. Beneath it, I felt protected. Hidden. Safe enough to speak.
"Laura?"
I called it over the engine noise—the word still strange on my tongue, but somehow right. Not sister. I wasn't ready for that. Courage couldn't work wonders overnight. But her name? That I could manage.
"Yeah?" Her voice carried back easily, clear despite the mechanical symphony surrounding us. A pause, then: "Not gonna call me 'sister' yet, huh?"
The teasing lilt in her tone made me flush. "Working on it," I muttered.
She smiled—I could hear it even without seeing her face.
I cleared my throat, steering us back to safer ground. "You said you're a scientist... and you've been working at our college for at least three years, right? I mean, I'm nearly graduating there myself."
"Mm-hmm." She navigated a turn smoothly, leaning slightly, the scooter responding despite its age. Her movements were practiced, comfortable—she'd ridden this machine so many times she knew exactly how it would respond to every input.
I took a breath, then continued, the words coming out in a rush before I could second-guess them. "Then... how can you be this simple?"
The question hung in the air between us. I rushed to clarify, worried it had come out wrong. "Not fancy dresses—always simple. Yet you look beautiful. And this old scooter too..."
The words trailed off. Beautiful. Had I really just called her beautiful? To her face? My face heated beneath the covering cloth.
The scooter hit a small bump. Laura steadied it without missing a beat, her body shifting automatically to compensate.
"Beautiful... am I?"
Her voice was quieter now, almost surprised. Like she'd genuinely never considered it before, like the word didn't quite fit with how she saw herself.
I felt my face heating up even more beneath the covering cloth, the sunburn on my cheeks protesting the additional warmth. "I—yes. Everyone thinks so. You're... you know. The boys in my class always talk about you."
I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. How did I explain this without making it worse?
"What?" There was curiosity in her voice now, maybe a hint of wariness. "Don't leave me hanging."
"It's..." I swallowed hard. "It's not always respectful. The way they talk, sometimes… you know?"
The scooter's engine filled the silence that followed. I couldn't see her expression, but her shoulders had tensed slightly, her posture shifting in a way that was barely noticeable but unmistakable, taking it in but not dwelling, I guess. Then she spoke, her tone shifting back to something more thoughtful, more serious.
"This project is big, Maggie." Her voice carried a weight now that it hadn't before. "Everyone involved here has put all of our efforts and money into this." She paused, guiding the scooter around another corner with practiced ease. "I already mentioned in the letter that our government isn't funding this. But other data and information we're collecting—related things—we get funds for that."
I listened, trying to follow the implications. Government funding. Related research. Side projects that paid for the real work.
"It's like..." She seemed to search for the right words, her voice thoughtful. "Instead of two birds with one stone—it's two stones, one bird. We're funding the real mission through the side research. That's why we have to be careful. Efficient. Every coin counts."
The scooter's engine sputtered again, as if punctuating her point about efficiency.
"On top of that," she continued, her voice steadying, growing firmer, "fancy things don't bring happiness or status. Not really. It's what we do and achieve. What we leave behind."
She patted the scooter's handlebar affectionately, the gesture fond despite the machine's obvious age. "And look at this baby! It gives 70 kilometers per liter (roughly 164 miles per gallon). What new model gives you that much?"
"But it's slower," I said hesitantly, stating the obvious.
"Slower?" Laura's voice lightened, almost amused. She gestured ahead with one hand, the scooter wobbling slightly before she steadied it again. "Look at that scenery."
I followed her gesture, lifting my eyes from the road ahead.
A small park appeared on our right—trees swaying gently in the morning breeze, their leaves catching the golden light. Early joggers moved along winding paths, their movements steady and meditative. The grass was still sparkling with dew, each blade catching the light like tiny crystals. A fountain at the park's center sent up gentle sprays of water that caught the sun in rainbow fragments.
"And that—" She pointed further ahead with her chin, not removing her hands from the handlebars this time.
Through the gap between buildings, I could see the valley beyond—rolling green hills touched by golden morning light, layers of them stretching into the distance. Mist clung to the lower slopes like a soft blanket, slowly burning away as the sun climbed higher. The far peaks were still shadowed, mysterious, promising secrets.
"It gives us time to enjoy these moments," Laura said quietly, her voice softer now, almost contemplative. "Peaceful, isn't it?"
The scooter putt-putted along at its unhurried pace. The wind wasn't harsh—just a gentle pressure against the covering cloth. The engine noise was almost rhythmic now, becoming background music rather than interruption.
She was right.
If we'd been on a newer, faster vehicle, I would have missed it all—too focused on holding on, too overwhelmed by speed and noise. But this slow, steady pace... it let the world in. It gave space to see, to notice, to appreciate.
I tightened my grip slightly, absorbing her words, letting them settle into me.
"I'd rather spend money on the mission—on making sure we succeed—than on clothes or a new scooter." A pause. "This one still runs. And it lets us see the journey, not just the destination."
The street opened up ahead of us, wider and emptier. Trees lined both sides, their branches forming a canopy overhead that dappled the sunlight into moving patterns. A few shops were just beginning to open—a small coffee shop where an old man was setting up his equipment, a flower vendor arranging fresh jasmine and marigolds.
"What we leave behind..." I repeated softly, more to myself than to her.
The words felt important somehow. Heavier than they should be.
"Exactly." Laura's voice was firm, confident, carrying a conviction that came from deep inside her. "That's what counts in the end. Not what we wore or what we drove. What we did. What we created. What we changed."
A comfortable silence settled between us as the scooter continued its unhurried journey. I found myself relaxing into the ride, into the rhythm, into the strange peace of this slow morning passage through streets that were just waking up.
We're going to the gym. With Laura. On a scooter that sounds like it's about to explode.
But somehow... I think I'm starting to understand her.
The scooter slowed as we approached a two-story house set back slightly from the road. Concrete construction, painted a warm cream color with dark brown trim around the windows. Slightly more polished than ours—the paint was newer, the garden more deliberately maintained. Not overly fancy, but well-kept. The kind of place that spoke of practicality with a hint of care. A low wall surrounded the property, with a metal gate that stood open.
"This is it," Laura said, pulling into the driveway. The scooter's engine finally quieted as she killed the ignition, the sudden silence almost startling after the constant mechanical symphony.
I looked up at the building, confused. "This is... your home?"
"Yep. Sara and I share it." She dismounted smoothly, extending the kickstand with practiced ease. "The gym's inside. Ground floor, back section. We converted it."
A home gym. Of course. I should have expected that.
I climbed off carefully, my legs slightly unsteady after the ride. The covering cloth shifted, and I adjusted it automatically, making sure everything was still secure.
Laura led me through the small garden—a neat path lined with stones, a few flowering plants I couldn't name, a small water feature that trickled quietly. She pulled out a key and unlocked the front door, pushing it open into a narrow hallway.
The interior was clean, minimalist—functional furniture that served its purpose without excess. A small living area to the left with a simple sofa and chair, a few plants by the window catching the morning light. A narrow staircase leading up to what I assumed were the bedrooms. Nothing excessive, nothing purely decorative. Every object seemed to have a purpose, a reason for existing in that space.
The walls were mostly bare except for a few photographs in simple frames—landscapes mostly, a few of what looked like hiking trips. One photo caught my eye: two young girls, maybe twelve or thirteen, standing on a mountain peak with their arms around each other, grinning at the camera. Laura and Sara, I realized. Before. When things were simpler.
"This way." Laura moved down the hall with easy familiarity, her footsteps soft on the wooden floor.
She pushed open a door at the back, and the space transformed.
The gym opened up before me—significantly larger than I expected, clearly created by knocking down walls to combine multiple rooms. Concrete floors, polished smooth, with high ceiling that made the space feel even more expansive. Weights stacked neatly along one wall in ascending order, their metal surfaces gleaming. A heavy bag hanging in the corner, swaying slightly from some previous disturbance. Training mats spread across the center—thick, professional-grade padding in dark blue. Mirrors lined one entire side, reflecting the space back at itself, making it seem even larger. The air smelled faintly of rubber and effort, of sweat and determination.
And standing in the middle of it all—Sara.
She wore black athletic shorts and a grey sports bra, her dark hair tied back in a tight bun that emphasized the sharp lines of her face. Her posture was relaxed but alert, arms crossed as she leaned against the mirror wall. Toned muscles were visible in her arms and core—the kind of definition that spoke of years of consistent training, not just casual exercise.
When she saw us, her eyes locked onto Laura immediately.
A slow smile spread across her face—half amused, half accusatory, wholly knowing.
"Well, well. Look who finally shows up."
Laura stepped inside casually, pulling off her light jacket and hanging it on a hook by the door. "Morning, Sara."
"Morning?" Sara pushed off the wall, walking toward us with deliberate steps. Each movement was controlled, purposeful—someone who moved with complete awareness of her body's capabilities. "You know what day it is, Laura?"
"Sunday?" Laura's tone was innocent, almost playful. Too innocent.
"Two days," Sara said, her smile widening into a grin that showed teeth. "Two days since you dumped the entire relocation job on me and ran off to play scientist."
I blinked, suddenly understanding.
Laura shrugged, completely unbothered. "You handled it fine."
"Fine?" Sara stopped a few feet away, hands on her hips now, her grin turning predatory. "I moved seventeen boxes. Alone. Seventeen. Some of them furniture. Do you know how heavy a sofa is, Laura? Do you?"
"You're strong. You managed."
"Oh, I managed alright." Sara's eyes gleamed with mischief, with challenge, with something that looked like barely contained glee. "And now, dear Laura, it's payback time."
Laura's expression didn't change, but I saw something flicker in her eyes—anticipation, maybe. A spark of challenge rising to meet Sara's. Her shoulders shifted slightly, her stance widening almost imperceptibly.
These two had done this before. Many times before.
Sara rolled her shoulders, stretching her neck side to side. The movement was smooth, practiced—loosening muscles, preparing. She looked like someone who knew exactly what her body could do and exactly how to use it. "Let's spar," Sara said, her voice light but edged with intent, with purpose. "Right now. You and me. Let's see if all that 'research focus' has made you soft."
The air in the gym shifted—charged, electric. The casual morning atmosphere evaporated, replaced by something sharper, more focused.
Laura's lips curved into the faintest smile. Not worried. Not concerned. Excited.
"You sure you want to do this?"
"Oh, I'm very sure." Sara stepped onto the training mat, bouncing lightly on her toes, her body already moving into a ready stance. "Unless you're scared?"
I stood frozen near the doorway, my eyes darting between them. My hand clutched the covering cloth, forgotten now.
Wait. Are they seriously going to—
Laura walked forward, calm and unhurried. No hesitation. No doubt. She stepped onto the mat opposite Sara, rolling her wrists slowly, methodically. Her grey ponytail swayed slightly with the movement.
The distance between them felt measured, deliberate—enough space to move, to engage, to test each other.
"Alright then," Laura said quietly, her voice dropping into something lower, more focused. "Let's go."
Sara's grin widened, her eyes bright with challenge and affection and competitive fire.
And suddenly, I realized I was about to see something I'd never expected.
***