Hiraeth
|heer-eyeth| (n.)
a homesickness for a home you can't return to, or a home that never was.
As humans, each one of us yearns for something oh so deeply, and not all of us might get that. But if we ever do, we keep it so close to us, clingin...
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❛❛She was simple, like quantum physics.❜❜
❛❛「₪」❜❜
Gulp. Three mere sips of red wine, and an absurd confidence takes over her entire body. She smiles. Or so to the rest of the world. Deep down, she knows she is breathing to calm herself, asking herself to be brave, telling herself she can do it. She knows she can. She knows how to talk to people. She's always been good with people. But this time, things are different. All of this is new to her. Out of the corner of her eyes, she takes one last glance at the man she's been watching for over ten minutes before placing her glass— the rim now marked with her scarlet red lipstick— on the counter, graceful as ever.
Her jet black hair, dyed mulberry at the end, falls to her shoulders, doing justice to her outfit of the day. A simple red silk dress hugged her curves all over, falling to her mid-thighs. The neck of the dress allows a good view of her cleavage, her shoulders left bare. A simple red and silver necklace rests on her neck. A stunning woman, to whoever sets eyes on her.
She takes a seat that is closer to this breathtaking stranger she's been meaning to approach for a while, and as she does so, said man's suspicions are confirmed. So she is interested. A smile forms on his lips, but it is so small, no one was likely to notice it unless their faces are inches apart from each other's. However, he does not regard her just yet.
"Xan?" He chooses to talk to the bartender instead, who in turn holds up a hand, gesturing him to wait.
After a few seconds of silence, the bartender (apparently named Xan), turns to the man.
"Yes, Al?"
"Light this for me, will you, Xantheus?" He says, holding up a cigarette, pissed at him for making him wait.
"Can't find my lighter. Been lookin' for it since forever." Xan shrugs, matter-of-factly.
As hesighs, Al notices the woman take something out of her purse, and then, before he has time to analyse her next move, she shifts closer to him and says, "Allow me."
A seductive smile dancing on her lips, she holds up a lighter. Raising an eyebrow, Al puts the cigarette between his teeth, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. She gladly lights it.
After taking one small puff, he holds out his hand, "Alan Sergio Adkins."
"Sandra Alice Alinac." She smiles, taking his hand in hers. As their palms touch, Alan cannot help but feel surprised. Looking at her delicate frame from afar, he had assumed that her hands would feel small and soft. But as he feels the rough skin of this woman resting against his palm, he feels intrigued. Something deep down inside tells him, this woman is more than you think, Al. But then, it made no sense to judge someone on the basis of how rough their hand is. Oh shut it, Al, maybe she just has dry skin. No need to fucking overthink.
