Strangers In The Night

The title for this short story is inspired by the song that was made famous in 1966 by Frank Sinatra.
Romance isn't one of my strong points, but I thought I'd have a go at a short story for the Valentines competition.

I had written an ending to this but it disappeared when I tried to publish it so there currently is no ending.

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2. II

 

The next evening when I went to the café the girl was there again, sitting at the same table. The book she had been reading the day before lay on the table. I felt a sudden pleasure seeing her there again, as though she was waiting for me. I considered going over to sit with her, but I didn't have the guts. The waitress was standing over her when I walked passed. They exchanged words in French, coffee being the only word I could make out. I assumed the girl was French because she spoke it so well. I wondered if she spoke any English, then I noticed that the book she had been reading was Jane Eyre, and it appeared to be in English.

I went inside to my usual corner seat and ordered a cappuccino. I stared at her for a few minutes. I watched the waitress bring back a coffee for the girl and placing it incfront of her. The girl smiled at the waitress. That smile. It did something to me, brought out emotions in me that I had never experienced before.

I watched as the girl picked up her book and started reading. Then I placed my sketchbook on the table and began to draw her. She had a fascinating face to draw; a sort of imperfect beauty, the best kind. Her eyes were her greatest asset; big, blue, and gleaming. She entranced me. It was an unexplainable something that just attracted me to her. 

Everything she did drove me crazy; I loved the way she brushed her hair behind her ear. I loved the way her dress fluttered in the light breeze. I loved the way she held her book with such delicate grace, stroking the pages. In that one moment I fell in love with her. I had a sudden urge to hold her in my arms and protect her. I wanted her. I wanted to stroke her soft, fine hair. To stroke her cheek. I wanted to kiss her soft skin tenderly. I wanted to give her the happiness she longed for; find the light in her eyes, that twinkle, and extinguish the loneliness and sadness. I wanted to delve into the depths of her soul and see the parts of her that no one has seen before. I wanted to make her feel beautiful, as I think all girls should be made to feel beautiful. I yearned for her. 

This girl did something to me. In my heart it felt right. I longed for her. I had never experienced such attraction to someone I'd never met. I wanted to get to know her. After finishing my drawing, I closed the book and contemplated walking over to her. What a foolish idea, what would she see in me? Girls tred on my heart far too often; they crush it and I'm left to pick up the pieces. I get attached far too easily and end up alone every time. Until this moment I was afraid to love. I couldn't bare to have my heart ripped from my chest again. But when I looked at this girl I knew. I knew I had to forget the past. The past was dead. I had to keep moving forward and never look back, never be afraid. I had to live. To be willing to love is to be willing to hurt, because hurt always comes after love. I was willing.

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