OVER AGAIN

GOODMORNING

As the sun tinted the sky with its presence, Tilda rose. Her naked silhouette strode across the room, and she picked up her panties.

"Leaving?"

"I think I should go before there are too many people on the street," the woman said.

"Yes, it's betterーwait," Weston said as she slipped into her Mom jeans, "here's my number."

Tilda smiled and copied the number directly on her device; Weston's phone vibrated, "that's mine," she said before moving on to clipping on her bra.

Weston sat up, crossed-legged on his bed, and hugged his pillow, "may I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"Why me?"

Tilda turned and gave a mischievous smile, "why not?"

Weston needed logical answers. There was something between them; it was intense, almost unbreakable.

The man still asked himself how was it possible, why did even seeing the woman dress to leave give him the feeling of having an open heart operation without anesthetics?

Weston sunk his head in his pillow a second to hide as he felt himself blushing, only to raise his head to say, "you know, I feel like I won a million euros."

Weston didn't know that for Tilda, it was the other way around. He was her million, and it would never change in a month, a year, a decade; she loved Weston Edmonds all her life. Meeting him unleashed the sentiment which waited for his owner. Now he was there; she was his.

Their strange predicament was their karma.

Weston got out of bed and grabbed his faithful jogging bottoms, for which he now held great respect. Bare-chested, he accompanied Tilda to the door.

"Do you mind if I come back tonight?"

Tilda didn't want to waste the time she had; every second counted.

"Tonight, already?"

The words spilled out on their own; the surprise was tremendous for Weston, who thought it was the last time even though something told him it wasn't.

Weston kept his feet attached to the ground by being reasonable when he was already a goner.

"Sorry, I'm pushy," Tilda said.

Weston noted how Tilda's slightly tinted pink cheeks accompanied the apology. He was glad to see he wasn't the only one to flush a blush; they were like children experiencing their first crush. The feeling was warm, and it tickled Weston inside, forcing him to smile continuously.

"It's okay; please come back. I'd love to see you again; I want to see you."

The man felt he needed to give the change by saying what he was thinking.

"Phew, I panicked," Tilda said, "oh God, why do I keep making a fool of myself?"

Tilda was trying; Weston could see she was making efforts. Now he believed her; Tilda had never done anything like this before, it transpired in all her clumsy expressions, yet she took delicate steps not to break or shatter the hatching emotions.

"Are you okay, Tilda?"

Tilda, who was about to open the door, stopped in her tracks, "yes, I'm just wondering how to qualify us."

"Wait, you forgot your wig."

Weston rushed to the couch and brought back Tilda's disguise.

The woman stroked the wig Weston gave her before starting to place it on her head.