Liesel was no longer the little girl that Max once knew. Her hair, which had hung like wet rope in her youth, was now meticulously arranged on her head. Her eyes were deeper now, but blocked. A dam had been built on the path to her heart. Her eyes had always been the feature Max loved the most. Brown - a small symbol of the rebellion hid inside such a young girl.
Max looked again. No, young wasn't right. In age, yes, she was still sprightly, but her face told a different story. Even now her lips were tight and sorrowful and the skin around her eyes was jagged like lightning. But if he thought deeper, he realized that he was no longer the young man that Liesel once knew.
"What are you looking at?" she asked. She was never shy with Max.
"You."
"Tell me what you see."
"I see a woman…"
"No," she stopped him. "If your eyes could speak, what would they say?"
All at once, he wanted to kiss her. Or read their story. Or sing a lullaby. Or dance on hot coals.
Of course, he did none of these things. He smiled at her and his old spirit described hers until tomorrow became today.