The way they held hands.
The bounce in their steps.
The way they turned to each other as they talked.
I was on the other side of the street, behind them.
He was dressed like any other young man in Norway
would dress - Bermuda shorts, T-shirt.
Only his jet black hair hinted his parents may have
been born in another country.
She was shorter, very petite.
Her black leggings showed off her very thin legs.
Her tunika/ short dress had long sleeves.
That far she could perhaps also have been one of
many other young women in Norway.
It was her hiyab, her headcovering, that was hinting
to her family background.
But the two of them mostly looked very much in love.
He then quickly put her arm around her.
The hiyab and the hug became for me a symbol of
trying to live in two cultures.
Perhaps it was. Perhaps it wasn't.
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