"You've come so far!" I exclaim, feeling a genuine smile of pleasure spreading across my face.

"I know," Juhani laughs. "I'm so proud of myself."

"I'm so proud of you," I agree.

"I couldn't have done it without your help," he says. "You're a lifesaver. Really."

If I put my hand to my cheek right now, I'm certain it would come away hot.

"I've been talking to a few classmates," Juhani continues. His fingers are tapping out a tattoo of nervousness onto the tabletop. "Some of them might be interested in lessons, too, so I gave them your contact details. That's okay, right?"

"Definitely," I say, even as I tamper down a wave of panic that instinctively rises up at the thought of having to pick up calls from numbers I don't recognise. "How many are there?"

He shrugs, "Two or three. I don't know if they will all contact you, but I thought you should know."

"Thanks for giving me a heads up," I say, then give an awkward giggle. "I usually don't pick up calls from unknown numbers, so I might've missed them if you hadn't told me."

"Call?" Juhani looks startled. "Oh, no. They'll probably text first."

"Oh!" It's my turn to be surprised. "That's good, then. I think I'd prefer texting to speaking on the phone when it's with people I don't know."

"Yes, so do we," Juhani grins. "You know us Finns."

I laugh at his quip. "I'm disappointed," I say, struggling to keep my face straight as I see Juhani's eyebrows shoot up. "There are all these jokes about how shy and introverted the Finns are, but I've been here for months and I haven't met anyone half as bad as me."

Juhani snorts and bursts out laughing. I watch him, feeling relatively proud of myself.

"Oh, come on," he says, when his laugh has subsided into a chuckle. "You're a little quiet, yeah, but you're quite sociable. It's fun talking to you."

I shrug, even as I preen at his praise. "I'm just saying," I say, tongue-in-cheek, "that with all the stereotypes floating around, I would've thought there would be way more introverted people around."

"Maybe you haven't met the really introverted ones," Juhani suggests. "I mean, if they were really introverted, you might not have had the chance to get to know them in the first place."

I consider this. "Makes sense." Then I let my mouth curve upwards.

Juhani grins back. And for a moment, we stare at each other, blanketed by a wave of camaraderie that paints over my cheeks with a layer of warmth.

He is my first success story—my first foray into teaching as a profession. It is also the first thing I've accomplished on my own since landing in Helsinki.

And, suddenly, I feel the prickle of tears against my eyelids.

I blink a few times, hoping that Juhani doesn't notice. With my luck, my nose has probably gone red at the tip. To disguise the lump in my throat, I cough and fix him with a stern look.

"This doesn't mean you'll stop studying for German, does it?"

He shoots me a startled look. "Are you serious? If I stop now, I'll end up failing again." Now a worried look has crossed his face. "Wait – you don't think I'm stopping our sessions, are you?"

I had thought that, but I cock my head as if the idea hasn't occurred to me. "Of course I hope you'll continue," I say. "We could focus more on conversational skills now that your foundation is more solid."

Juhani grimaces. "Yeah," he says. "I definitely need more practice speaking. And with grammar." Then he pauses, and says, with such a straight face that I can't be sure if he's joking, "Maybe I shouldn't have boasted about you to my classmates. Now there's a chance you might abandon me to the wolves."

I laugh. "The wolves?"

He shrugs, smiling this time. "Wolves, German grammar – what's the difference? I might have a better chance against the wolves."

I roll my eyes at him, then take the sting out of the gesture with a laugh. "Okay, okay, I won't abandon you. I promise. So – same time, same place next week?"

***

I might have forgotten all about the tension between Zuzi and Frederik if it had been an isolated incident that night at Priscilla's. But it didn't fade away as time passed. In fact, I realise one afternoon, watching the way the Zuzi's face is turned resolutely from Frederik, who is lounging in his seat and looking anywhere but in her direction, it has gotten worse.

They don't speak in class. At meals, they always manage to find a way to avoid sitting next to each other. And now that I've started noticing the unspoken frostiness surrounding the two of them like an unbreakable bubble, I can't stop seeing it.

At a loss, I look to Priscilla for answers.

"Do you remember how Zuzi and Frederik were acting during the kiwi film night?"

Priscilla nods. I can tell by her wry smile that she knows where my line of questioning is headed.

Still, I hesitate. Is this considered prying? But my curiosity eventually wins out. "Is there something going on between them?"

"Well," Priscilla hedges. I can almost see the thoughts flying through her mind as she sorts through information she can tell me without betraying Zuzi's confidence.

"You don't have to tell me anything," I rush to add. "I just want to know if there's something wrong. Like – do they hate each other now?"

Priscilla snorts. "I reckon they're very far from hating each other." Her eyes meet mine, and I read what she isn't saying in her expression.

I laugh. "Okay." Then a thought strikes me, "So you mean, this whole time when Zuzi was teasing me about Aksel, she had something going on with Frederik?" I wrinkle my nose. "That's hypocritical."

"Not the whole time," Priscilla says. She's staring into the distance now, a slight frown creasing her brow. "I think this is relatively new. But it's not like they haven't been flirting forever."

"Flirting?"

Priscilla takes a look at my confusion and laughs. "Oh, my God! Did you really not notice it? It must've been the most obvious thing in the world."

"But she was always so mean to him."

"Uh-huh," says Priscilla. "Everyone flirts differently."

I purse up my lips as I consider that.

"So," I say slowly, "what they're doing now – all that avoiding each other... is flirting?" The incredulity that stains my tone shows what I really think of that possibility.

Priscilla laughs at my expression. "Well, no," she says. "Something's gone wrong between them. That's why Zuzi is ignoring him now. Or trying her best to, anyway."

I ponder that. "Yeah," I agree. "I still see her sneaking glances at him when she thinks no one is listening." A thought hits me. "Wait – he is interested, isn't he?"

The thought of Zuzi pining for someone who had already written her off sets off a series of painful fireworks in my chest.

Priscilla snorts. "Have you seen Freddy lately? He's even more jumpy than Zuzi is. I give them two more weeks, tops."

"Before what?"

She shrugs. "Before they have a big fight and start talking to each other again."

A startled laugh wrenches itself out of me. "A big fight, huh?"

"That's the way they communicate with each other," Priscilla says, and I nod after a moment's pause. She's right. Maybe not so much Frederik, but Zuzi would definitely be the type. She's the type to shout, rail, accuse – and then everything would be fine once she had gotten all the poison out of her system.

"Is there anything we could do to help?" I ask, even as the answer has formed in my mind.

Priscilla shakes her head, confirming my thoughts. "It'd probably backfire if we try to do anything. Leave them to it. They'll figure it out." Then she shoots me a quick, indecipherable look. "Just like you and Aksel."

The sudden change in topic throws me. I splutter. "What? I– We– Nothing has happened."

"Mhm," Priscilla hums, a side of her mouth curling up. "Yet."

"Are you the resident fortune teller or something?" I snipe. But disgruntlement aside, I'm inwardly marvelling at the grasp Priscilla has on everything happening around her. "You seem to be able to predict everything."

"Maybe." Priscilla shoots me a grin. "I'll get out my crystal ball."

I roll my eyes. "Well then," I say, "tell me what's going to happen, O Great One."

"Between you and Aksel?" Priscilla's gaze is sharp as she studies me.

I open my mouth, then close it. "No," I say, my voice coming out in a way that sounds like a seagull's screech. I clear my throat and try again. "No," I say, calmer this time, "I mean in general. An overview of life."

"Well, I can tell you one thing that's for sure," she says solemnly, then grins as she reaches forward to grab my hand. She gives me a reassuring squeeze, and I squeeze back. "Everything is going to turn out just fine."

A laugh sputters out of me. "And how do you know that?" I challenge.

I think about my life in Helsinki – the foreign culture I have yet to assimilate into; the career path I have yet to decide on. But then, feeling the warmth of Priscilla's hand on mine, I also think about the encouraging smile Elina flashes in class when I give the correct answer; the nice moment with Juhani just earlier in the week; the two texts I have already received from Juhani's classmates requesting trial lessons.

Priscilla nods sagely, as if she had just moments ago been seated on my train of thoughts as it chugged through my mind. "I just do," she says. "Don't you know what they say?" She takes a deep breath, then lowers her voice to intone the next line. "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end."

I roll my eyes at the motivational quote that could have been lifted straight off Pinterest. She has probably spent way too much time on social media. "How trite." But then I breathe out a chuckle.

"It's not the end between you two," Priscilla tells me. "Trust me."

I suck my lips into my mouth, biting at them, because she knows as well as I do that I can't refute her statement.

***

Our next international movie night is scheduled for Sunday, with Frederik's choice of movie up next. I have a vague recollection of Zuzi offering to go next, which gives me slightly more time to come up with my own recommendation. Even so, I find myself at a loss.

Normally, I would have turned to Tessa and Gabi for ideas, but something stops me this time.

On Saturday night, I dial Mamma, tapping the blunt tips of my fingernails against the workstation of my laptop. The trill of the phone blares through the silence and I grope at the sides of my phone to turn the volume down.

My mother picks up before I've succeeded in doing that, and I am treated to an over-loud exclamation of, "Emi!" Her face peers out from within the confines of my screen.

"Hold on, hold on," I shout back, before clearing my throat and adjusting my voice a few decibels lower. "Sorry, Mamma – let me turn down the volume first. I'm going deaf."

I hear Mamma's chuckle just as I hit the volume-down button. The chuckle gets softer even as it rings in my ears.

"Okay," I tell Mamma. "It's fixed. Sorry about that – I don't know why my volume was up so high."

"Probably from all that music you listen to," Mamma says, grinning at me.

"Are you busy?" I ask.

The image on my phone shakes as Mamma moves through the house. I see her turn away to shout over her shoulder, before she focuses back on me. "Never too busy for my darling daughter," she says.

"Did you just leave Papi to wash the dishes alone again?" I ask, laughing.

She winks at me, a playful, exaggerated gesture.

I catch my father's voice filtering through distantly through the speakers, and laugh even more at his disgruntled tone.

Mamma rolls her eyes in response to whatever he's said. I hear the sound of a door closing, before she says, "How are you, Emi? Is everything going okay?"

"Yes," I tell her, anxious to wipe the look of concern off her face. "I don't only call when something is wrong, you know."

Mamma smiles, first in relief, before her expression turns cheeky. "Oh? Could have fooled me."

"Hey!" I glare at my screen. Then I have to wait for Mamma to stop laughing. "Having fun, are we?" I ask her, when she finally gasps for breath.

"Oh, definitely." She gives me another big wink.

It's my turn for an eye roll. "Sometimes I don't know who's more like the child – you or me," I mutter, just loud enough for her to hear.

"Hey," she protests. "After all these years of putting up with your cries and tantrums, you're saying this to me?"

Opening my eyes purposefully wide, I wink at her.

"Okay, okay," I say, when she is still laughing a full minute later. "Mamma!" My voice has taken on a plaintive whine, the kind that's best accompanied with a foot stamp. At this moment, I feel like a child all over again.

"All right – don't sulk," Mamma says, biting back her laughter. "Now, what can I help you with, sweetheart?"

"I just wanted to ask..." Now that the moment has come, I feel almost embarrassed. I worry at my bottom lip with my top central incisors, then let it pop back out.

Mamma continues to watch me through the screen, waiting patiently.

"I just wanted to ask if you have any movie recommendations..." I take a deep breath, then plunge myself into it, "from Singapore."

I feel the pause more than hear it, before Mamma laughs. "You're asking for recommendations of Singaporean movies?"

"Is it really that unbelievable?"

"Yes," Mamma says at once. I pull a face. Then she frowns at me, seeming to think of something. "Have you been talking to Aksel?"

I blink at her for a long moment. "Aksel?"

What does Aksel have to do with anything?

"Okay, maybe not," I hear Mamma mumble to herself.

But I've launched into this train of thought. "What does Aksel have to do with Singaporean movies?"

The screen wobbles a little, making me wonder if Mamma is shrugging, having forgotten that I can't see her shoulders. "He was asking about some a little while back. We had quite a nice conversation about Singapore as well."

"With Aksel?"

He had never told me this. In all the time we'd been together, I'd had no idea he had even given a fleeting thought about Mamma's former home.

"It was during one of the times he came to visit you during the holidays," Mamma tells me. "I must admit – I didn't expect that. He said he wanted to find out more about Singapore and I suggested he watch some movies to get a feel of it."

I'm not sure how to feel. Had Aksel wanted to learn more about me – the part of me I never talked about? Or had he just been making conversation with Mamma?

As if reading my mind, my mother says, "He has watched some of them, you know. We talked about them the next time he visited."

"Why didn't I know about this?"

The screen wobbles again. Mamma doesn't say anything.

My mouth has turned down into a curve of bemusement. "How is it," I say, the words falling out haltingly at first, then in a rush, "that Aksel knows more about Singaporean things than I do?"

"Because," my mother says simply, "you've never wanted to know that part of yourself."

I freeze instinctively. Coming from anyone else, this would've ignited a spark of anger. But this is my Mamma. She's qualified to make that judgement.

"Mamma," I say, my voice coming out in almost a whine, even as I try to assess if her tone holds a hint of rebuke.

Her laughter comes over the line. "Well, it's true," she says. "It was impossible to get you to touch anything remotely Singaporean – or even just anything Asian, come to think of it."

"It's different now," I mumble, chewing on the words sulkily. "I'm interested now."

There is a beat of startled silence. "Where is this coming from?" Mamma asks, finally.

I shrug, even knowing she can't see me. "I don't know. My friends and I have been doing movie nights where we each get the chance to introduce films from our countries, and I thought..." I bite my bottom lip, then grimace and soothe at the indentation with a flick of my tongue. "Obviously, I'm going to show a film from Germany. But I thought it would also be nice to show them something from Singapore, you know, because nobody here really knows that much about it."

Including me, I add silently.

Mamma is beaming, a light shining out of her face in a way I've never seen on her. Looking at her, I'm thrown back to months before, to the time when I had seen that same light in Aksel's face. It had been right after I had rattled off a list of places in Helsinki that I had enjoyed, I remember. He had smiled at me in the same way.

And Priscilla. The way she had smiled after we had all told her how much we'd liked her kiwi film.

I swallow to wet my suddenly parched throat.

How could I have been blind to it for so long? I've always been so caught up in how little people know about me, I haven't thought about things from the other way around. I have such power – over people like Mamma, Aksel... even Priscilla. Sometimes, all it takes is a few words. A show of interest; a desire to understand where they come from; to understand who they really are. That can be all you need to make a difference.

I should have asked Mamma about her country long ago. I should have asked Aksel to tell me all about his. Maybe then we would all have travelled down another path.

"I can give you some recommendations," Mamma says, her voice breaking through my reverie, "if you're interested."

"Of course I'm interested," I say, even though there's no of course about it. I haven't been interested for the longest time.

Mamma just raises her eyebrows at me, telling me without words that she's thinking the same thing. I pout.

"I'm interested," I repeat. "Tell me, Mamma. I'll even get out a notebook and write it all down."

Mamma rolls her eyes at me, then breaks out into a wide smile. "Okay," she says demurely, as if this hasn't been something she's been waiting for since my birth. "There are some movies that might be more understandable for an international audience..."

And for the first time since birth, I don't cut her off as she starts talking about the faraway culture she belongs to. I listen.

***

Ever since we've established a tentative truce, Aksel has always been the one to suggest meeting up. This time, I don't wait for his halting message – usually along the lines of any plans this weekend?

After ending the call with Mamma, it only takes me a moment's hesitation before I click the screen back on and dash off a quick text. Free after work tomorrow?

The moment I press 'send', I remember why I don't like to take the initiative. Taking a few gulps of breath to steady myself, I toss my phone onto the bed and turn back to my laptop. I have Finnish homework to do. That should take my mind off––

My phone squawks out an alert, and I'm immediately across the room, phone back in hand.

Yes, Aksel has written, then: Free for dinner?

I breathe out a sigh of relief.

It is only after I have sent out my response – Sure. Where? – that I catch myself smiling.

+++

Author's Note: Okay, I'm all caught up! I'm currently still working on Chapter 25, so updates will be a bit slower in coming from now on... sadly. :P If anyone is reading this here, please comment and let me know what you think of the story.