It was only a second’s fraction, a skin’s particle passing by within the beat of an eyelash; but yet, she longed to believe that his touch was anything but accidental.
He wouldn’t ask the exact amount, but he knew the number of Sarah’s previous partners couldn’t be counted on two hands.
To Camille, there were two types of people: those who sat slovenly on the sunny side of the bench and those who squeezed under the shade of the tree.
Despite those around her see her crouching over her laptop with frowned forehead and bitten lower lip, she sometimes stops her focus on writing to wonder over e-commerce websites, filling up shopping carts she wouldn’t buy.
She woke up, her clothes drenched in sweat. She caressed her humid hair, it was all still there. She then rolled her hand on the side of her bed, on which she found none.
She started nodding at the song’s rhythm miming the crowd around her, despite finding herself not enjoying that music in any possible way.
She was waiting for him to get ready, lingering her eyes on some knickknacks around – porcelain elephants, old grocery tickets, pens from work.
By the time he came back with a different shirt on, he noticed the shelves being much tidier.