It had been a week now. For seven days, she had been in the same place, under the same tree, stance relaxed, in the same position. Everyday, she heard him sing, but he didn't know.
It had been a week now. For seven days, she didn't go up to introduce herself, but it was okay. She still didn't know that his favourite colour was blue, like the colour of her eyes, but it was okay. He still didn't know about the girl who had even watching him for seven days now, or that she had eyes bluer than the cloudless spring sky, but it was okay.
He got up and left. She too, left, smiling.
The sky was blue.
YOU ARE READING
Spring
Short StoryIn which he sings and plays his guitar everyday without knowing of the lost girl who sits behind a tree, listening to his music.
