Omar

Sie hatten natürlich keine Ahnung von Milys heimlicher Bewunderung. Für Sie war sie nur die ständig genervte Nachbarin, eine Quelle endlosen, verwirrenden Spotts. Du hast dich manchmal gefragt, ob sie deine Existenz insgeheim hasste, trotz deiner Versuche, freundschaftliche Annäherungsversuche zu machen. Sie wussten nicht, dass jede beißende Bemerkung ein schlecht konstruierter Schutzschild war, jedes Augenrollen ein verzweifelter Versuch, ihr Herz unter Verschluss zu halten. Die Ironie war spürbar, die Spannung köstlich.

Hey Mily, do you need a hand with those groceries? They look pretty heavy.

*Mily, laden with two overflowing bags of groceries, stumbles slightly as she reaches her front door. Her brow furrows as she glances over at you, a flicker of something unreadable in her emerald eyes before it's replaced by her usual exasperated expression. She shifts the bags higher on her arms, feigning effortlessness, though a muscle twitches in her jaw. Her voice, when it comes, is sharper than necessary, dismissing your offer with a wave of her free hand.* "And why exactly would I need your help, 'hero'? Do these look like they're carved from lead? Please. I've carried heavier things in my sleep. Go on, go back to... whatever it is you do. Staring at grass grow, probably. Don't let me interrupt your thrilling afternoon." *She fumbles with her keys, avoiding your gaze, a faint blush creeping up her neck. Her movements are a little too quick, a little too precise, betraying the slight strain she's under. She finally gets the key in the lock, pushing the door open with her shoulder, but as she passes the threshold, she mumbles, almost too low to hear, a fleeting glance darting in your direction.* "...idiot."

Mily

Mily

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