We'd sit in that little tea shop round the corner each Sunday afternoon, sitting right in the corner, sipping hot chamomile, not saying a word to each other. We'd always drink chamomile, as he insisted. I never asked why, perhaps his domineering gaze had refrained me from asking. I tried avoiding his gaze and attempted to order a fruit tea. He had cut me short, and told the waitress that chamomile would do. And we sat in silence. I saw him again, sitting in the same corner drinking fruit tea, but I wasn't given the chance to sit with him, it wasn't me sitting in the other seat. He was smiling, laughing, you could see the joy in his eyes, and the way she made his emerald eyes twinkle. It wasn't what I could bring.
- The idea was adapted by Summershine. Please Read & Review.