Learning to Sign

Ludo has worked at the café on Market Square for three years, and he usually talks to everyone. Customers, delivery drivers, even the old man who only ever wants a glass of water. Then a new coworker starts on Monday. She is deaf, and Ludo does not know how to say a single word to her.

She is friendly, fast and good at her job. They write notes on a small pad by the till. "Two flat whites, table four." "Milk is running low." It works, but every note feels like a closed door. Ludo wants to ask how her weekend was, or what music she likes. A note is too slow for that.

He could ask her to teach him, but that feels like giving her extra work. So he decides to learn by himself. He finds an evening class at a community centre, taught by a deaf teacher called Bastian. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, after his shift, Ludo sits in a bright room with eight other beginners. Nobody speaks. There are only hands.

At first, he is terrible. His fingers move in the wrong order, and he forgets half of the signs by the next lesson. Bastian is patient. He repeats each sign slowly and moves Ludo's fingers into the right place. At home, Ludo practises in the bathroom mirror with the door closed, like someone keeping a secret.

For two months, he tells nobody. His coworker notices that he looks tired, but he only shrugs and writes, "Long week."

On a rainy Monday morning, she opens the café door and shakes out her umbrella. Ludo takes a breath, lifts his hand to his chin, and moves it forward. Good morning.

Her eyes go wide. Then she laughs, a bright, surprised laugh that fills the empty café. She steps closer, gently turns his wrist a little, and shows him the correct hand shape. Then she signs something much longer, fast and happy, and Ludo understands about half of it.

He puts the notepad away in the drawer. Then he grins, shakes his head, and signs the one thing he has practised for weeks: "Slowly, please."