The Boy in Denim ✓

two

The brunette girl stood outside of the funeral home. Her white pencil skirt was a perfect contrast to the black blouse she had worn. Once again, her feet were adorned with Nike Airs.

She did admit that she dressed up quite a bit today. She even wore the lightest make up. Chances are, the guy that was there yesterday would once again be around. She wanted to have a good second impression, since she had already messed up the first one.

As she turned to knock on the door, it creaked open. And alas, there he was. The root cause of the sticky mascara she had put on her eyelashes.

Her eyes met his.

Blonde guy.

And he was wearing a denim jacket, yet again.

She wondered when she'd be able to put a name on the face. But, with the circumstances, it would be quite awkward to just walk up to him and say, "Oh, hi. I see you've been going to my Grandmother's funeral home on a daily basis. Are we related? If we're not, can I date you?"

Yeah, there was no way she'd be doing that.

The guy had a blank look on his face as he looked away and opened the door wider for her to enter. Once she did, he had opened the door for himself and left as soon as she had seen him.

The brunette sighed. She might as well give her prayers to her late grandmother.

She made her way inside the funeral home, sitting herself on the white plush chair at the very back, much like what denim jacket blonde guy did the previous day.

Unlike yesterday, the funeral had at least ten to fifteen people inside. Two of those people were her Uncles. She steered clear of them, knowing very well of how bad their words can get when they want to hurt other people's feelings.

She recited her prayers and then pulled out her phone when she heard it ding.

It was a message from her mother. She was asking how the funeral was going. She had replied that it was going quite well and that no conflicts have happened so far.

But as she looked up, she realized that she spoke too soon. She was not able to hear the door creak open.

A conflict just started.

The conflict between mind and heart.

Her heart was beating three paces faster, yet her mind was shouting at it to slow down.

He was there, seated beside her- praying.

His eyes were shut close, eyelashes voluptuous. His lips were in a thin line, indicating that he was in a serious state.

She wondered how a person could look like such an Angel. His pale skin contrasted his brown eyebrows. Even if his hair was blonde, she figured that he had just dyed them and that it's natural color was brown.

When she saw him opening his eyelids, she returned to her less relaxed, straight back posture. She held her phone tightly, feeling his heated gaze on her.

How badly did she want to introduce herself to him, but refused to do so. She had more self discipline than that. She found it rather disrespectful if she had chosen to be such a flirt inside her Grandmother's funeral home.

She felt him slide closer to her.

She slid farther and then stood up.

Her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

She didn't even spare the denim jacket wearing blonde guy a glance.

Her breathing almost came to a halt.

She left the funeral home.

Out of respect.