Outside the window, the lights flickered slightly, and the city was drowning in the night gloom. She stood by the window, leaning on the frame, and looked into the darkness where he was supposed to appear. Her hand nervously slid along the smooth glass, but her face remained calm, without a hint of worry. She knew he would come-he always did. But this time, fear throbbed in her heart, mixed with an inexplicable warmth that she tried to stifle. She heard a soft creak of a door behind her. She did not turn around, although she could feel his eyes on her. He stood silent, as always, holding back what they were both afraid to say. Their meeting was as clear as a contract, but the smell of something more, something unauthorized, had long been in the air. Her eyes slid down, and the corners of her lips quivered slightly. “You're late,” she whispered without turning around, trying to hide the slight tremor in her voice that only he could notice.
