SILENCE
he asks as he throws the newspaper across the table and I’m greeted by a photo of us - Atlas and I, “Is this the woman you returned for?”
“Hmm, I always thought she was extremely photogenic.” I grin and he huffs his annoyance.
“Wow. She’s beautiful,” I subconsciously jump at his sudden voice behind me, before smiling my agreement, “She’s really my age.” He states, catching her age in the article. He doesn’t seem too surprised. I suppose he did his research.
“Yeah, she’s younger than me...”
“Eight years. That’s still less than our father and my mother. I guess we prefer young older women.” At his witty comment I fail to stifle my laughter and the old man glares at us over his cup of coffee.
Bab Populer