Tuesday, November 06, 2007


With knowingly automation, he was there behind her, amidst the crowded restaurant, in an instant. She had not discovered him yet - her impatience well concealed by her the calm, insipid sips at her whiskey, but not hidden well enough by the choice of the drink itself. Three similar glasses to the one in her hand lay before all to behold, her impatience not at all drowned by the endless drones of the lunchtime crowd.

The touch of hands unto shoulders did not alter her in any way.

She's angry?

Her shoulders had sensed their approach; the moment they touched her, the shockwaves from her shoulder nerves reverbrate within her every bone and tissue.

Damn it. Did I...

In one swing, he made himself face her, and took a glance just long enough before he leaned forward.

She countered his advance; instead of finding lips, all he got was cold unassuming glass.

He knelt, left hand bringing the glass, right hand bringing her waved tresses, in preparation...

Her nonchalance stood by her. She knew she was stronger than he is. She would not succumb.

Their lips finally locked, but hers remained shut. She remained in control, while he had lost his.

The eyes twitched involuntarily, he was back on his table,those shifty eyes under the cover of the menu he was supposed to scrutinise.

She, the whiskey-sipping one, was at the other table that was a good ten yards away.

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