I ordered my coffee and waited for it to be made. And now here you were, in Bangkok airport, sitting in the coffee shop where I was about to order coffee. I’d seen you in the check-in line with your small carry-on bag. But who were you? My eyes kept flitting back to your face. There was a strange sort of familiarity about you. Is that how you’d planned it-wait until my parents had a go at me before you approached? I knew, even then, that you’d been watching me. So, seeing you … I guess it was a welcome diversion. Mum hadn’t been happy about my skimpy top, and Dad was just grumpy from lack of sleep. The dark eyes are for the villains … the Grim Reaper, the Joker, zombies. It’s funny, but I always thought I could trust blue eyes. But I wasn’t random, was I? And it was a good act. You blinked quickly when I looked at you, and turned away, as if you were nervous … as if you felt guilty for checking out some random girl in an airport. They’re pretty powerful, you know, those eyes, pretty beautiful, too. Those blue, blue eyes, icy blue, looking back at me as if I could warm them up. No one had ever looked at me like that before, with that kind of intensity. In the airport, that day in August, you had that look in your eyes, as though you wanted something from me, as though you’d wanted it for a long time.
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