𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗺 𝗳𝗹𝗲𝘀𝗵 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲. Maya sits at its end, glancing every so often to the showerroom door opposite her. It opens and closes like a wingbeat, ushering with it the scents of white enamel and smooth green bars of soap. Maya pretends she is basking on the sill of an open window by basking on the sill of an open window. She lets the sunwarmed breeze soak her fresh-washed hair and, after a while, pretends to read. She glances at the door each time it opens, and away again after another familiar, but plain, face appears there. She pretends she is doing anything but watching the door, waiting. 𝘓𝘶𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, a small and internal voice provides. 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, or another lost, forgotten thing.
The doors open again, and this time, it's who Maya had wanted to see. She steps out in a soapy haze, still in her robe. Maya forgets to pretend she wasn't waiting.
“ 𝙎𝙖𝙞𝙟𝙤 𝘾𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙚! ”
@fleurchanges
