You looked at her, and she didn't meet your gaze.
That's what you expected of course- she was pouring over her work, but your heart melted that tiny, miniature bit.
You resisted the temptation to reach out and touch her hair, because no matter how similarly it was to brown dyed spun silk, you were a priest, no matter if only twenty one, and priests were meant to resist temptation.
So you kept your hand steady as you took off your snow covered jacket and hung it on the brass hook that reflected your eyes.
They were big and blue and sad.
But you fixed on your smile.
Your smile made her smile- you knew that much, even if it was fake, constructed carefully over hidden sadness and love, longing.
And then she finally looked up, and as always you felt the beat in your chest speed up as you sat next to her.
You heard yourself ask something unimportant, and she gazed at you in concern.
Her eyes missed nothing- and they certainly didn't miss you kissing her.
You didn't miss how nice she tasted either…
After that, you vaguely remember dashing out, leaving a distraught girl in that office.
She came after you, catching your wrist as she looked at you in surprise- at least, you hoped it was surprise- and tilted her head.
You murmured an apology, and she smiled your smile, bringing a hand to your face softly, placing it on your cheek.
Your cheek, co-incidentally, turned a rather stunning shade of red…
And you brought your hand to her cheek, and pressed your forehead to hers, feeling her breath on your face, amidst the cold snow and passer-bys.
You finally touched her hair, noticing how she smiled more, if possible, as you marvelled just how soft it was.
You kissed her again, amazed how the sadness drained away as she melted into your embrace.
Weeks later, your smile was no longer fake.
Well, if she thought it was, she kissed it to life anyway.