She was outside playing
with her skipping rope when a flower petal brushed across her cheek.
Dropping
her rope, she placed her hand onto her cheek where the touch had been so familiar...
The petal rolled along
the ground away from her in the soft breeze. The movement caught her
eye and she turned, hand on her cheek, to watch it begin to drift
away...
...and stop at a boy's
feet.
Denzel was standing
with his head down, eyes on the petal. Hitching the backpack slung
over his shoulder up a little higher, he bent down to pick the petal
up.
As
he rose and straightened, a pale pink between his fingers, she felt
two hands come up from behind to rest on her shoulders. The wind
breathed in when the hands shifted and blew a flower-scented wave
as the ghost-touch gently pushed her forward.
As
she drew closer to him, Denzel broke his gaze with the petal to look
at her. Looking between the girl and the petal, he blushed and smiled
sheepishly (just like cloud
flashed through her mind with the ghost-hands echoing it), offering
the petal to the girl.
She took it, blushing
herself at the gesture.
The ghost-hands smiled.