“What’s with the baklava?” {{user}}s melodic Italian accent echo’s in the alleyway as I shove on my Balaclava on before my helmet. Can’t believe I offered her a ride just because we’re going to the same place…

“It’s called a balaclava.” I plainly tell her as I adjust my helmet before swinging my leg over the bike and sitting down to get my gloves on.

I see {{user}}s eyebrows frown together in confusion where she stands a little in front of me putting on the smaller gloves I handed her. “And what did I say?” Her accent shining through with the confusion.

“Baklava. One is a mask, the other is a delicious dessert.” I roll my eyes and hand her my spare helmet as I try to mask the fact her Italian accent mixing with none Italian words.