Autumn in London. A girl in jeans, sneakers, long sleeves sweaters, a nice coat, a scarf, but no gloves. A boy, playful smile and wicked eyes. Both Oxford students, they knew each other by sight, and didn't really get along. Once he stepped out of the line and she threw him her notes and books, then left. She found what she had thrown in her room, arranged the way she liked it, with a note on top that said "roof".
A roof, a cup of tea and a chocolate. The boy sitting there all alone, the wind playing with his hair, though he didn't seem to care. She saw him there, knees pressed to his chest, eyes looking for something they couldn't find, a tear running down his cheek. Without giving it much thought, she sat next to him, careful not to spill her tea. They were quiet, not sure what to say or do, eyes looking to the peaceful city below them. She opened the chocolate bar and share some with him. She saw they silent apology in his icy-blue eyes, and the hidden need of forgiveness in them. She nodded and put her hand on his arm, shifting to face him fully, forgiving and asking for forgiveness, since she had stepped out of the line.
There they sat, hair wild, calm eyes, until the night arrived and they were greeted by the stars. Since then they became the closest friends. He had shared his special place with her, and she had shared one of the things she loved the most with him.
He usually asked her why she never wore gloves, but he got no answer until that night, when he saw her taking a book out of her purse and saw how she smiled when her fingers touched the paper with her bare hands. He would learn how to make her some like that, learned her little quirks. She would learn to read his face, his face, his eyes, and learned what he needed without needing him to say a word.
They became the greatest friends, and spent their free time together, Sometimes partying; others eating; sometimes she read for him, she rested her head on his lap, and he caressed her hair; sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn't. And so, their friendship grew and grew, and no one found it weird when a winter afternoon he he kissed her next to the fountain, while lazy snowflakes crowned her auburn hair. No one out it weird when the treasure hunt led her to the roof, where he was waiting on one knee and a ring. No one found it weird when he started to caress her pregnant belly together with her hair. And so, no one found it weird to see him leaving flowers on her tomb everyday, to to see him talking to the air, pretending she was there.
