Eye Contact

A figure approaches her. She feels the presence of someone drawing closer, she registers subconsciously a dark grey jacket and a pair of jeans. Her hands are working mechanically on the task in front of her; her mind is elsewhere, drifting away to landscapes and oceans beyond.

The door of a dryer next to her opens, almost hitting her.

“Oh, sorry,” the dark grey jacket says. She turns.

She sees his eyes before she sees him.

His eyes.

She falls into his eyes. She’s swimming in his eyes, immersed in the shades of brown and green, caressed in their depth. His eyes... She’s floating in his eyes, to the worlds unknown, to oceans and landscapes, to realms of golden and amber and caramel and—

He smiles apologetically. “I hope I didn’t hit you.”

“No, it’s okay,” she says.

She folds the last of her clothes, puts them in her bag, zips the bag and hangs it over her shoulder. He’s still smiling.

“See you some other time,” she says to him.

And with this, she walks out of the launderette.

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