“No, I can’t do this again.” She threw her phone on the table and collapsed on her couch. “You have to stop chasing me. I am too broken for anything new!”
She didn’t pay attention to his puzzled eyes and buried her face in the pillow. She didn’t want him to read her expressions – he was too good at it.
She heard a set of feet approach the door, and a hand open the knob. The feet stopped for a second, as his voice reverberated something, and then the silence took over again.
It took her some time to register his words. She hurriedly got out of the couch and rushed to door, only to find a figure climbing down the stairs, with her own mind playing his words on a rewind:
“We all are broken, broken in our own way. But that’s what gives us the opportunities to exchange the pieces of our hearts, each time, to create our unique pieces of arts!”