She was sitting by the window in front of the entrance door; a book was open in front of her, her eyes were vaguely looking at something beyond the glass door.
She turned the ring on her finger and smiled gleefully. He was looking down at her with a triumphant smile of a gentleman; bent forward and held her hand: "promise".
The door opened with a ding of a bell. A guy walked in and headed straight to the "Order Here". The wind from the door turned the pages of her book. She was hazy.
It was a wonderfully pleasant day. Barcelona. A bright green camisole under a white button-down shirt, a short yellow skirt with a pair of beige sandals. He was watching her as she got ready, his eyes shining with a kind confident smile. They head down to the Las Romblas street for a late morning breakfast. She thought she would be more than content with a gelato to break her fast.
She looked down at her finger and traced it from the knuckle to the tip. Under her fingers, she had held open the book to an unfamiliar page. She browsed a few sentences on the page, then turned back to find where she had last stopped reading. Or rather the part she remembered.
It was chili in the metro from the blow of the AC. He put his hand on her bare arm. His palm was cold. Her arm was surprisingly but pleasantly warm. He slid his hand up and down a few times. She thought how she adored his touch.
Her coffee was cold beyond tasty. She threw the cup away and sat down with a glass of water. The cold skin of the glass was absolutely dry.
The moist in the air was just perfect on her hair and skin. Her straight hair had a wave now without any effort and her skin looked as if wiped by fresh tomato juice, radiating with a faint bright orange shine. Their glasses on the table were covered with moist. She traced her finger on the foggy glass, a smiley face.
She bent her fingers, let go of the open book. The pages flew open to a pre-marked page. It was the beginning of a chapter. "Illusion".