"Are you two alright?" he asks, his glance darting between our identically flushed faces.
"Why are both your faces so red? And you're sitting there like you've just had a terrible fight."
I stay silent, looking down at my twisting hands, completely out of my depth.
Deniz looks at his father, nerves written in every line of his body. He touches his own cheek, as if just noticing the heat.
"No, Dad, it's not like that," he says, his voice soft, almost breaking.
"We didn't have a fight. And…" His gaze flickers to me, quick and shy.
"I think… it's just the winter. Our faces get red."
Mr. David stays silent for a beat, then picks up his spoon again.
"Is that so?"
My cheeks burn hotter. I nod quickly, seizing the lifeline.
"Yes. We didn't… do anything."
Mr. David's smile returns, but it's a knowing one.
"Boys, I was just asking why you both seem so nervous."
