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I'm a sieve to her comment, which passes through me as I am only interested in finding out how they communicated, "eh, Gina, how did you know what he wanted?"
A deadpan stare appears on Gina's face as if to say he told me silly. I keep my mouth shut to avoid sterile conversations, which would lead to nothing.
My grumbling stomach alerts me; hunger knocks, I hurry off for lunch. Like a kid, I wait for the lights to switch from red to green though there isn't a car. Yep, safety paranoia has that grip over me. I cross the street from the department store. Bombay Express is an Indian restaurant I like; they serve the best biryanis I've ever tasted; I go there once a week.
I occupy my usual spot and let my gaze roam on the decor. The place isn't as crowded as usual some people are boycotting it since they found out the owner gave the vegetable leftovers to bats.
Suddenly the entrance door opens and in comes guess who? Søren.
What is this?
Until yesterday, he didn't exist. Now the guy seems to be a cameo in every scene of my existence.
Søren doesn't sit far from me. I try to hide behind the menu and give up.
It's a coincidence. Come on, Inna, get over it.
My order arrives, and I'm unable to relish the meal. Søren's eyes don't spare me one bit.
The waiter brings his dishes, and I can't help but notice the number of times Søren adds salt. I swear the man must be tasting of the Red sea by now, never mind his eating habits. I'm out of here, "excuse me, can I have a doggy bag, please."
Attempting to retain my burps and imploding gases as the food stays on my stomach is all I do during the afternoon. It's with a lot of relief that I hit my bed and release the remaining bottom burps after a good and hot shower when I get home.
Okay, Inna, forget today. Tomorrow will be better.
Am I punk'd?
After yesterday's Bombay Express fiasco, I choose Monet's salads bar. They serve everything at the counter, and who is sitting across from me?
"Eh, excuse me, can I have a takeaway, please?"
It's not that I'm running away, but this man's gaze upon me makes me nervous.
Why does he keep showing up?
Aurora is kept in the dark about my encounters with him; I don't want her to misinterpret my intentions and think I am stepping on her turf.
Perhaps I'm paying too much attention to Søren. Come on, Inna, get your shit together.
The week goes on in the same manner, without forgetting Aurora, who keeps reminding me about how the man's sex appeal soars with his silence and how she plans to go to Oblivion tattoos for another tattoo even if it's far.
