Knock knock. "Hello! I've come to help you pack" he beamed.
"I
thought Bobo was supposed to come with you" she said as she beckoned
him into the flat. "There's a lot of stuff, I doubt the two of us could
finish this in time for moving day tomoro."
"Oh, urm.. he.. had other plans but worry you not, I'm here!" he exclaimed, with a wink of an eye.
She was skeptical, but they worked diligently through the night laughing a lot while he made fun of the stuff she had and paused by the occasional stretch or yawn. Be that so, surprisingly, in just under five hours,
everything was packed and sealed, ready to be moved. All that was left
were the photos on her walls to be stripped bare. They had already
worked themselves ragged so she offered to make him a cup of tea for a break. He followed her down into the kitchen.
"I'm impressed." he started. "And why is that?"
"I'm just trying to figure out how you managed to accumulate so much stuff, having lived less than a year in a room the size of a minivan."
She blushed. "Hey! A woman has needs okay! and in my defence, most of the stuff were merely crap my flatmates left behind for me to clean up, so hah!" He smiled at her. He had a kind, flirtatious smile. The kind of smile that twinkled. She couldnt help but to smile back playfully.
They took their teas and conversation back upstairs into her small minivan-sized room and they told stories of their past, their futures and their wildest dreams. He opened up to her and she let him in. They talked for hours through what was left of the night, their voices in slight hushed tones, drifting in between sleep and consciousness. And just as the first rays of the morning sun shone through the window, she looked over to the end of the bed where he lay. Eyes shut, ruffled hair, slightly slumped body with his legs hanging over the side of the bed. She watched him for a good fifteen minutes before he stirred awake.
"Hey," he mumbled. "Gmmorning." she replied. "Listen, thanks for the all the help, I dont know how to thank you enough."
"Well... you could say thank you by having breakfast with me?"
And so they did.
"I'm impressed." he started. "And why is that?"
"I'm just trying to figure out how you managed to accumulate so much stuff, having lived less than a year in a room the size of a minivan."
She blushed. "Hey! A woman has needs okay! and in my defence, most of the stuff were merely crap my flatmates left behind for me to clean up, so hah!" He smiled at her. He had a kind, flirtatious smile. The kind of smile that twinkled. She couldnt help but to smile back playfully.
They took their teas and conversation back upstairs into her small minivan-sized room and they told stories of their past, their futures and their wildest dreams. He opened up to her and she let him in. They talked for hours through what was left of the night, their voices in slight hushed tones, drifting in between sleep and consciousness. And just as the first rays of the morning sun shone through the window, she looked over to the end of the bed where he lay. Eyes shut, ruffled hair, slightly slumped body with his legs hanging over the side of the bed. She watched him for a good fifteen minutes before he stirred awake.
"Hey," he mumbled. "Gmmorning." she replied. "Listen, thanks for the all the help, I dont know how to thank you enough."
"Well... you could say thank you by having breakfast with me?"
And so they did.
"Every man's memory is his private literature" - Aldous Huxley, English Poet and Writer (1894-1963)
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