Woman In Irish Linen Shirt

I sat in the co-pilot and fastened my seat belt. Miss Pan De first turned to confirm my situation, and then asked: "Are everything all right?" Seeing me nodding, she started the car.

The car was very air-conditioned, and the sweltering heat that had just been brought in when the door was opened was instantly dissipated, and the sun was cut off from the glass windows. After getting in the car, Miss Pan De changed to a square polarizer, which suits her well. Her silhouette is so deep that I didn't realize that she has such a smooth bone shape before, even the angular sunglasses can handle it.

Miss Pan De's car is bigger than I thought. I was blinded by black, and I guessed it was a car, but here, it is rare for a car with this displacement to be used for personal use-her car does not even have a child safety seat, the interior is clean, only the rear There is a tissue box arranged. I also saw two small lumbar pillows when I put things in the trunk. Maybe she would occasionally take a lunch break in the car.

She didn't wear a wedding ring, and buying such a car was mostly out of interest.

Indians like to buy British cars, just as we like to buy German cars: Although we buy German cars for "safety", or a kind of safety-related marketing cues, Indians just...like it. But this is too stereotype. I don't know much about cars, so I started a separate topic: "People all over Singapore are playing badminton on weekends. I didn't expect you to book an indoor court."

"I'm just lucky," she explained, "someone happened to cancel the reservation from two to three in the afternoon."

"Hit for an hour? Are there only two of us?"

"You can rest and relax when you are tired." She laughed, "I also brought some small snacks made at home, which may give you a little energy."

I was very surprised: "You can cook?"

She turned around and glanced at me, her sunglasses blocked her eyes: "I have lived in the United States since seventh grade. There is no Asian in Massachusetts, you know, I was living in the same dorm with a Japanese girl at the time. There were only boarders. We two Asians, thanks to her, I am now very good at making tonkatsu."

"Wow." What she said was definitely not a semi-finished product like the supermarket. It is very troublesome to start from scratch. I was a little admired and sighed: "It must have been hard and fulfilling for you during that time. Moving to another side of the earth to live, culture shock and different teaching methods... It's amazing that you can cook by yourself."

"That's nothing special." She carefully passed a fork in the road. "You must think that I grew up in England, surrounded by a group of servants, and went back to New Delhi once or twice a year without even going out of the city center. Just say An Indian who says'I love my motherland'. I'm not that type."

I was stunned there, she was still driving, not looking at me. I am determined to tell the truth: "Frankly, considering your age and position, and you are in a Commonwealth country, I sometimes guess that way. I apologize for this stereotype."

She turned around for a moment, and her smile looked interesting: "Don't mind. You are more interesting than I thought, Yao."

Is this a compliment? I didn't take it rashly, just said, "I just tried to be frank."

"I admire it," she said, "but it's not something you should do to be frank with me, maybe it's better to just give up this attempt."

The strings in my head tightened suddenly.

At this time, she went on to say: "But I really didn't expect you to tell the truth."

I said, "This is what you can hear when I try to be frank."

"Okay." She smiled, "I won't encourage you to do that, but I'm glad to hear a truth occasionally."

I went to the badminton stadium with such trembling.

Today is obviously a private meeting. Although frequent private meetings between two partners who are a bit embarrassed, it’s easy to make people think about it. I still didn’t expect that she would pull me out of the chat and let me. Facing reality.

Is this hitting me? threaten me? Warn me?

Or is it just a joke with black humor?

Miss Pan De took the snacks she made out of the small refrigerator and put them in a cooler bag. I slung our rackets on one arm and two bags of clothes on the other arm.

She didn't insist on carrying their own, but raised her eyebrows and said, "Very gentleman! Thank you, Yao."

"Thank you gentleman for preparing snacks for us." I said, "I hope I will get tired after five minutes of playing."

This joke made her very satisfied. It seems that Miss Pan De is very confident in her cooking skills.

I waited for her to open the locker before going to the next door to open her own cabinet. Perhaps Miss Pan De didn't notice, or she thoughtfully understood the shyness of an East Asian girl. In short, she didn't ask much, but I was relieved, because I didn't know how to explain it: I can't really push it to East Asian stereotypes, right? We already have to bear the label of bad driving and good mathematics. I don't want to add something strange on this basis.

Thank you that my mother is from the south. I have not been taken to the bathhouse like ordinary northern children.

After changing into sportswear, Miss Pande put a high ponytail. All her forehead was exposed, and her slightly curly hair was neatly tied behind her head, which was very different from her usual elegant and calm appearance. Suddenly I felt that this was a strong opponent, and after spinning the beat twice in my hand, I decided to compete with her for the right to serve: I was planning to give it to her before.

Yes, although my cardiopulmonary function and reaction speed are no better than the peak period, I am very good at playing badminton.

Miss Pan De is the darling of good luck. The first ball was made by her.

She is better at sports than she looks, and she definitely keeps exercising all year round, as if she has just warmed up after a round. My heart rate was already high when I was warming up. I sweated a lot and lost two goals. One of them was handed and the other was really missed.

Standing on the sidelines and drinking two sips of water, she looked at me provocatively, and my fighting spirit came up immediately, wiped my hands and squeezed the racket, and hooked her chin.

The performance just now attracted a few players in the line, and there were already spectators on the sidelines at the beginning of the second game.

I originally planned to give her a ball or two in the middle, but the heartbeat was obviously faster than in the first game, and the leg response was not as sensitive as before. The result of the water release is likely to be a disastrous defeat. It's one thing for me to let her win. If she really loses, it's another thing in my heart. There are spectators in this round, and we obviously have to invest a lot more than the last round.

With this input, the second game took half an hour to end. She was tied as soon as she got the game point, so repeatedly, it was more difficult to win her two goals than the original plan for Vietnam.

There was not much left in the booked time, and it was not too shameful to have a tie. We gave the place to the back guests and sat on the bench to rest.

"You are great." I said. I stretched very reluctantly. The calf muscles are beating uncontrollably at this moment. It must be miserable tomorrow.

Miss Pan De just looked at me with a smile and didn't speak. There is a layer of fine sweat on her neck, which gradually gathers together with the ups and downs of her breathing. The sweat on the left and right of her forehead wets the scattered hair, and occasionally one or two strands stick to the temple, which makes people can't help but take a closer look. I squeezed my hands tightly and hid them behind me so that someone would accidentally trim her hair. That would be too inappropriate.

At this moment Miss Pan De suddenly approached.

I didn't move, her hand flicked behind my ear, gathering the broken hair.

Her voice envelops me with the smell of her perfume: "You are also great."

"Thank you." I lowered my head and removed the ponytail and tied it again.

"you know--"

"What?" I answered too quickly, and accidentally interrupted Miss Pande.

Suddenly she laughed, a little prank in her eyes, and said, "You know, this is the first time I have made this kind of small sandwich. If you have any suggestions, I will be happy to know."

I tried to calm down and took one and put it in my mouth. The tomatoes are so fresh and icy. It's surprisingly refreshing to eat now. I also ate the remaining half and commented: "The absence of pickled cucumber makes it one step closer to perfection."

"Take it down." She looked puzzled. "You hate pickled cucumbers?"

"That's why I accepted the invitation of crab shells to come to Singapore." I refrained from rolling my eyes a little. "The pickled cucumber is basically a national treasure, and Bailey's biscuits are sweet enough to make me unconscious. I just I want to eat something more suitable for my stomach. Maybe it would be better to move to West America, but if I want to move to the other side of the United States, why don’t I just move back to the other side of the earth?"

"It makes sense." She nodded slightly. "What major did you study and why didn't you go home?"

"Opportunity, I guess?" I said, "I was in engineering school when I was a PhD."

She nodded, without further questioning, and then returned to the topic of pickled cucumbers: "How about pickled cucumbers in Europe?"

I couldn’t help making a face: “German pickled cucumbers are, no exaggeration, a disaster. I once ate French pickled cucumbers made by my classmates. It was sour and sweeter than German pickled cucumbers. The taste of pickled cucumbers is much easier to accept."

"So you were an exchange student in Germany." She looked at me, "You even tasted pickled cucumbers. Why? You can even imagine that it tastes... bold."

then? Which was at the time?

I came back to my senses: "So we met in 2009 or 10. In 2009, right? You and I took a flight from Boston to Frankfurt?"

Annoyance flashed in her eyes for a moment, but she did not deny: "That's why I hate talking to people who are too smart."

"Well," I couldn't restrain the smile. After all, it is very difficult to win a round from Miss Pande. "At least you don't hate talking to me."

"Why?" She raised her eyebrows, "Don't tell me you don't think you are'overly smart'."

"It just feels that way." I looked at her and repeated it affirmatively, "You don't hate talking to me."