The Kiss

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
What would you do if you find yourself falling in love with your best friend?

Submitted: October 17, 2016

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Submitted: October 17, 2016

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She kept murmuring to herself as she climbed up the stair to his apartment, "Nothing's going to hapen. It'll just be lunch, friendly lunch. God, we've been lunching for like forever. Why does this feel so different? Because I feel different. But nothing's going to happen. He is not interested in me. He will not start anything. He's not gonna hold my hand. Oh please God, don't let him hold my hand!" 

For a few seconds she just stood outside the door not sure whether she should knock or run away. Then she said, "Oh! What the hell!" and knocked. 

And there he was, looking glorious as ever. She felt like crossing her legs at the same time she felt her face turn red, and her eyes burning. "Oh God! what am I doing here?!" she thought to herself as she moved mechanically towards the couch and sat down, hearing his voice but not really understanding what he was saying, until she shook herself to pay attention and heard, "pasta." To which she said, "Oh you cooked pasta. My favorite. But you know that. 

"You OK with pesto?"

"All kinds of pasta." 

He had already set the table, and even brought out wine glasses. But she's not going to drink, she says to herself. She has to stay sober to be sane. 

She let him lead the conversation which he seemed quite comfortable to do. She just enjoyed watching him as he spoke, how his eyes lit up when he was excited about something, and how his perfectly set teeth showed when he smiled or laughed, and how he licked a bit of sauce at the corner of his mouth. 

She watched as his left hand deftly twirled the pasta with his fork and lift it to his mouth. She was conscious of every movement he was making so much more than she was of the words coming out of his mouth. 

Finally, lunch was over. She didn't remember eating, or anything that he said or she said. But she can never forget every single detail of movement he made. And she plays the scenes in her head over and over again, like a silent movie. 


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