50: His Words (drabble)
She sits across him, watching his pen slide and scrawl delicately on the faintly yellow page.
“Write me a beautiful and breathtaking love poem,” she said.
She isn’t sure if he will, but he is, after all, her boyfriend. She wonders briefly what it’s like to be in love with such a demanding and needy for attention girlfriend like her. Is love truly blind?
Her eyes turn upwards to his face. The ghost of an impish smile lingers there, the candlelight bouncing off his dark thick-rimmed glasses. She doesn’t know how long she’s been watching him. It’s only when his eyes meet hers that she realises she’s been staring.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
She breaks the eye contact and her eyes flit away, as if she has a secret to hide. Perhaps she does.
After what seems to be a long time, she hears the scratching of his pen again. How blessed she is to have a boyfriend who writes her love poetry and prose. She writes for him in return, but she never shows him any of her writing. “Too embarrassing”, “you wouldn’t like it at all”, “trust me”.
He puts his pen down. She stands up, almost too quickly. She nearly overturns her own chair.
She runs around the table and envelops him in what she thinks is a bone-crushing hug. She doesn’t know what she has. She doesn’t appreciate what she has. She has him. She doesn’t know what to do at all.
P.S. Gosh what a crappy ending, haha