They laughed at him behind his back. He probably knew but was long past caring. Though maybe he didn't realise.
He wasn't like them. He was different, not from the same place. He didn't speak their language as well as other expats could. He drank a lot and tried his luck with the women. Or so it seemed.
This year something unusual happened. Everyone had gathered for the festivities. A street party they held once a year to bring the neighbourhood together. There were games, cakes, drinks and prizes. Music beat from a large speaker in the corner. Loud enough for everyone to hear, not so loud it drowned out their voices. He participated as normal. She was put on his team.
She wasn't from there. She was visiting family for a few weeks, so she decided to join in the fun. She'd been told to watch out for him. He was different, kept dangerous animals as pets. He drank a lot at the parties and tried his luck with the women. Or so it seemed.
They had fun participating in the games. He did his best to help the team win. Suddenly, he disappeared. He missed a few rounds. When he came back, he seemed a little less lucid. He slurred his words. He didn't catch on to the rules of the games as quickly.
"He's been in his house knocking a few back, hasn't he?" laughed one of the neighbours.
"Looks like it."
She had never met him before. Whatever she thought she knew of him was an idea shaped by the words of others. That wasn't how she made decisions about people. Everyone has a story.
When the games ended, they all sat around, drinking and chatting. She sat alone, participating now and then in conversations. She prefers more intimate conversations than chatting in big groups. Other people often find that strange. They come to "rescue" her, thinking she's being left out. Maybe that's what made him approach her.
He stood across the table. She couldn't properly understand what he was saying.
"Ah, you want a drink, is it?"
"Yes."
His hands hovered over the table as if searching the air for a bottle. She was slightly wary of him, given what she'd been told. She'd been instructed to take her own alcohol if she wanted to drink. She told him so, asking if he had something at home he could get himself. He shook his head, hands waving over the table, searching.
There was some wine left in a bottle she'd been sharing with her sister earlier. She offered it to him. He came around the table to stand beside her. He leaned in to kiss her. She heard the neighbours giggling as she stepped back, firmly telling him no. He moved to place his hand on her body.
"Don't touch me without permission," she said.
She heard them laughing, saying she was well fit to handle him. He asked for a kiss. She said no. He said he was gay, that he had never been with a woman. The person he loved had died two years previous. She was confused. He kept mixing up the pronouns he used. He said he was famous in his country. He said if she Googled him she would understand.
She read his story. She learned that he loved love as much as she did. She saw that he had been trained as a classical singer, like her. He sang songs from her favourite musical. His friend had had two strokes and a heart attack. He had been in love with him. He'd left his country to be by his side, to care for him day after day, month after month, sitting beside a hospital bed, singing, storytelling, loving and caring for him. They beat the odds, together. Doctors had said he was dying, but he had kept him alive.
Two years before their conversation, the time had finally come for his friend to die. She was certain his heart was still aching.
"If you love, nothing is difficult," he had been quoted as saying.
By the time she'd finished reading his story, he had left the party. She didn't have the chance to speak to him about it. She advised his neighbours to be kinder to him. She told them everyone has a story. She shared his story with them.
"If you love, nothing is difficult," he had said. "If you love, you listen," she thought. She was glad she had listened to him.
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