Sayid Jarrah was not an anxious man. He was forcibly calm, impeccably collected. And yet, at the present moment, he was unexpectedly distressed. It had just occurred to him that, while he had taken the time to purchase a suit to wear when he finally met Nadia after seven years, he didn't have a tie.

It was a very simple thing, a tie. It was a mere social construct that little doubt meant nothing to Nadia. And yet it was easier to think the tie important than to consider that, in a day or two, he might be face to face with a woman who no longer loved him. That is, if she had ever loved him. How much of his memory was history, and how much was fantasy?

He would not ask himself that now. He would find a tie. He must find a tie. The tie was of the utmost consequence; its importance dwarfed all other thoughts. But he did not have much time, and he could not be weighed down in his quest. He dropped his carry-on in an empty chair. "Will you watch my bag?" he asked.

He saw only her legs. He did not see her face. Her legs were arresting enough, but his eyes lingered on them only a moment—his mind was focused on the tie.

It was a foolish thing, leaving his bag with a stranger. The airport intercom kept playing its cyclical warning: "Do not leave your bags unattended." Oh, he would act appropriately offended when airport security later dragged him in for questioning, but he was sensible enough to know it had been foolish. His mind, however, was not presently inclined toward good sense. His mind was intent upon the tie. He did not even notice the indifferent tone of the woman when she answered. He left the bag and hurried on.

/LOST/

There were so many colors; so many patterns. The variety was maddening. How could he choose the right one? And he must choose the right one.

"What is her favorite color?" asked the saleswoman, and Sayid froze. He didn't know. As a child, she had often worn white. But his suit was black. And what had she preferred as an adult? How could he know? She had worn only drab garb in the torture chamber, bleak clothes made darker by the dirt of solitary days.

He did not want a red tie. He knew that much. As for other colors…he did not know what she liked. He knew the color of her eyes, those eyes that haunted him, those eyes he had last seen pleading with him. He knew the color of her lips, those lips he had so longed to kiss when he had cupped her cheek, when he had told her he did not have her courage. He knew the color of her skin, the soft, delicate skin that was flayed and burned and battered by men like him.

But her favorite color? No, he did not know that.

It was a simple question any man should have been able to answer. "I am meeting a woman," he had said. A woman. A woman he had sought for seven long years. A woman about whom he knew almost nothing.

What did he know? He knew that she was brave, sacrificing wealth and security for her ideals. He knew that she was generous, showing mercy when she ought to have repaid him with hatred. He knew that she was brilliant and strong, like a beautiful diamond that cannot be fractured. But he did not know her favorite color. He did not know her favorite book. He did not know her favorite food. He did not even know if, somewhere tonight, she would lay her head down upon a favorite lover's chest.

"I…it has been some years," he said at last.

"She won't care," said the saleswoman. She was kind. Sayid felt the tension begin to ease through his body. He had not encountered much kindness these past years, not since…

"Then you choose for me," he said, and he thought he might have smiled.

But his levity was soon cut short, and airport security took him by the arms. "Did you leave your bag unattended?"

"No, I asked someone to watch it." Someone…someone he did not know at all, a pair of pretty legs…Silently he cursed her. He would certainly never have guessed that within weeks he would be moving slowly within her, moaning her name in a tent on the shore, in a place where any thought of neckties would seem ridiculous.

"You need to come with us," said one of the guards.

"Of course I do," he said haughtily. Good. Now he could be affronted. Now he could preoccupy his mind with some other thought than Nadia. The indignation would bring him peace…for now.