We had spent the night talking when you suddenly said, "The sun's almost up. I should head back."
I grabbed onto your hand as you got up to leave. "Two more questions."
You laughed, sitting back down.
"What's the colour of your hair?"
"Caramel, I would say. Nineteenth?"
I hesitated. "Can I... touch your face?" You laughed, taking my hand and placing it on your forehead. The moment my hand felt your face, an electrifying sensation surged through my body. It was a moment that I had been anticipating for as long as I could remember.
You felt so real.
"This is my forehead," you said, carefully moving my hand, "and these are my brows. These are my eyes."
I could feel your eyelashes with the tip of my fingers. "They're so long," I remarked. I hoped I didn't say that out loud.
You laughed, moving my hand to the bridge of your nose. You felt like what I had imagined. Your lips were soft, and as my mum had said, you were clean-shaven. When my hand reached your lips, you paused, and I could feel the slight parting of your lips.
You pulled my hand away. "I have to go," you said, standing up to leave. I reached for your hand again, just as you leaned in and pecked me on my cheek. "I'll be back tonight."
YOU ARE READING
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Short StoryAt 00:00, Cinderella ran away from her prince, leaving a glass slipper on the marbled steps of the grand staircase. At 00:00, I ran away from him. Unlike Cinderella, I didn't leave a single thing behind. © sonderingly