by Daphne

Alone in his apartment, she touches his possessions. Books. CDs. A watch. A pen. A framed photograph of him with another woman— one she knows, but does not know. One she's seen, but not met.

Her fingers drift over the photograph, as if she could read by Braille just what she means to him. What he means to her. Are they in love, these two? Are they fated to be? Despite all of her promises that this is not serious, is she keeping them apart?

Part of her hopes not.

Part of her that knows she loves him doesn't care.

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