Flirting

There it is. Again.

I look away from her, focussing on a group of fellow diners a few tables away. Sphageddies is packed, the lunch crowd swelling as the minute passes. The chatter of idle tongues perforate the silence mercilessly, the way sunrays of dawn pierce the night. She is saying something about her current training, but I seem to hear only the violent thumping of my heart.

Be still, o restless heart of mine.

My gaze drifts back to her, as forcibly natural as I can manage. Conversation over pasta resumes its measured pace, and just when I'm ready to concede that it was only my misinterpretation, she does it again! In broad daylight, in front of the critical public eye, she flirts! Again!

Concentration is the only thing that guides my meatball to my mouth without encountering my nose or eye along the way. I find myself grasping for the right response, to speak as coolly as I can, but I know I'm failing. Some trick of the light lends a definite vibrance to her disposition, and strangely enough, I'm aware that I'm no longer aware of anything else.

Alas, she soon discovers my amateurish attempts at acting, and says:

"Oh no! Forgive me for flirting like this... I really shouldn't, I know. I should be talking to you, instead of flirting with him over SMS!"

So she puts her phone down, promises again to stop sending flirtatious SMSes to her friend, and lunch carries on.

Ah... back on familiar ground.