"This is where you've brought me?"
We stood on the sidewalk, outside the National Art Gallery. I looked at Max with disappointment.
"This is just the beginning, Isla,"
I ignored the tingling in my stomach when he said my name.
"Yes, well, even I thought you would be more original."
Max laughed, unaffected by my cynical tone. He shook his head, tossing his white wispy hair of his eyes.
He stared at the lights made to cast the building in a spooky glow, a hand resting casually in the pocket of his dark jeans.
I frowned, shifting from foot to foot. My skin started to become rough with goosebumps.
"My dear, we're not going in."
"Then where are we going?"
"Up."
YOU ARE READING
We Met In London
القصة القصيرة"Let's play a game." He starts it all. He dances around in my mind, laughter ringing in my ears, even after it's all over. ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ Isla has a way with words, not boys. After years of trying to maintain failing relationships, s...
