Alexa and the Badboy
I passed the paper again:
Your turn.
He leaned closer, the warmth of him brushing against my sleeve.
What do you do when you’re not reading or avoiding people?
The question was simple, not a trap. Still, it felt heavy in my hand. I thought for a heartbeat, then wrote slowly:
I walk. Sometimes I sketch. It clears my head.
When he saw my answer, his smile softened, quieter this time. He didn’t press for more. Just slid the paper back, a small check mark beside my words, as if he were filing them carefully somewhere safe.
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