They chattered away and his heart fluttered as he heard her speak. That voice, he could live off it forever; perhaps he thought to himself he could simply forgo food and bask in its sound and let it sustain him. What a lovely existence that would be indeed, his mind whispered.
Tsk, he thought, this was getting rather unhealthy, it had to be if his mind or whatever it was in his mind was encouraging him. He glanced to the right again, and just at that moment the chatter stopped. She leaned out and looked his way for a second, then popped back into her seat and carried on the conversation.
His heart stopped and he froze.
She looked at me.
He shook his head hard, goodness, he wasn't a teenage girl of fourteen. He made a mental note there and then to visit a psychologist as soon as he could. On second thought, a psychiatrist. There had to be a cure for punch-drunk love somewhere.
Labels: stories
