The big man sits at the desk in the room, scanning the words on the computer monitor deliberately. His expression is difficult to read, being either amused fatigue or annoyed drunkenness. Inasmuch as he is neither tired nor drunk, the man is at a loss as to what, exactly, it is that he feels.

The woman sits in the high backed chair to the left and behind the man. Leaning against one wing of the back of the chair, she rests her head and watches the back of the man's neck. Looking at the point where his neck and his skull connect, she notices that the man's anatolian ridge is very visible since his hair thinned. She speaks to the back of the man's head, "Yssef."

"Mm?"

"What's the matter?"

Yssef exhales somewhat impressively through his nostrils, hits two keys simultaneously on the computer keyboard sitting in front of him, and watches the screen change on the monitor. He reaches for a small bottle to the right of the keyboard which contains a red syrupy liquid. He uncaps the plastic bottle and drinks a mouthful of the liquid. He licks the residual liquid from his lips as he recaps the bottle and places it in more-or-less the same place from which he took it.

"Nothing's the matter, Aril."

Aril is unsurprisedly unconvinced.

"You're not looking forward to it, are you?"

Yssef rubs his eyes. Why on earth, he thinks to himself, don't I wear my glasses when I know I'm going to be working on the computer?

"Well," Yssef begins, with a somewhat reflective, somewhat narrative tone, "I wouldn't say I'm not looking forward to it..."

"I meant looking foward to it with a positive feeling," Aril counters. She knows her brother's word games all too well. Yssef smiles, still not looking at Aril.

"Indeed."

Yssef looks past the computer monitor to the north-facing window in the wall behind the desk. It is dark outside, and only the light of the moon illuminates the field to the north of the house. It is, in fact, quite late at night.

"You know that I don't really like to travel. Not anymore, anyway."

Aril is unmoved. Yssef pauses, feeling the odd taste of NyQuil in his throat.

"And with this cold, or flu or whatever it is that I have..."

"You don't have flu."

"I could have flu."

"I don't think you have flu."

"Well, I did have flu..."

Aril lets it go. She stretches her right arm outward and rotates her hand at the wrist, soothing the muscles near her shoulder.

"And I always get a headache when I travel, Ari. You know that. And I can't get used to time change, either."

Aril rubs the left side of her face with her left palm very lightly. "I think you're just making excuses. Just go, and don't worry about it."

Yssef looks at a set of four words on the computer monitor screen. He half shakes his head, turning it to the right, and makes a small grimace which resembles a mild facial tic. He turns in the swivel chair to face his sister, who does not move from her position in the high-backed chair. His eyes smile.

"Too much has changed, Ari. The world is not the same."

"I know it isn't, Y. But remember what you told me once: if the world changes for the worse, you have to change for the better."

Yssef smirks. "That sounds like a stupid platitude I would've said once."

Aril smiles. "But it made sense to me."

Yssef dismisses this. "Do you have a doctorate? A title? Are you Kalahud?"

Aril shakes her head. "Of course not."

Yssef nods. "Well, then, it would have made sense to you, then, sure."

Aril returns the smirk. "I think you said it because you meant it. Even if it wasn't as elegantly phrased as you would have liked."

Yssef smiles. He nods almost imperceptibly, "Clever girl."