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Dark long hair dances in the wind and a faint smile is on her lips.

She sits beside me, silent, the sketchbook resting on her lap. I look at it before fixing my eyes on hers. A smile appears before I can stop it.

“You brought it.”

Her eyes move toward me. “Are you smiling, Mister Caldwell?”

“I was appreciating the rare occasion where you actually listened.”

She looks down at the sketchbook, thumb brushing against the edge of the cover, then she takes a breath and flips it open. “Fine.”

I glance at her, taking another drag of the cigarette. “Fine?”

She picks up her pencil and smiles at me, “You wanted me to draw.” A pause. “So distract me.”

I look at her, then at the empty page, and before I can stop it, I laugh.

Her eyes immediately moved toward me. “Did you just laugh?”

I clear my throat, letting the smile stay as I look at her, “Apparently.”

She shakes her head and looks briefly at me before giving her entire focus to the pencil in her hand. “That’s unsettling.”

“You’re easily disturbed.”

This time, she’s the one laughing softly. She’s looking down at the page, and the pencil moves finally. The first lines are hesitant at first, as if she’s still deciding what her mind will create.

After a few seconds, she says, “I caught you being human.”

I tilt my head, following the stroke of ink on the page that seems natural and almost automatic, the shape is abstract for now so I’m not really sure about what she’s drawing.

“A dangerous discovery, Miss Vitelli.”

She chuckles softly, putting a strand of her hair back, behind her ear. “For me or for you?” she asks.

“For both of us,” I reply as her eyes leave the page to look at me instead.

She then reaches for my cigarette and steals it.

“Really?”

She takes a long drag and smiles as she exhales the smoke. “Sharing is caring, Damien.”

Hearing my name again catches me off guard. But she doesn’t seem to care, because she takes another drag before tuning toward me, holding the cigarette between two fingers.

“Here.”

Before I can reach for it, she slides it back between my lips. This lasts less than a second, she’s already back to looking at the page.

“Student,” I say, still looking at her, because I’m still realizing what she just did. “You’re making this unnecessarily difficult.”

Her hands keep moving, a lily appears again on the page, petal by petal, and she replies, “Sharing?”

“Boundaries.”

She doesn’t speak for the next few seconds, focused on her art, then, “Thank you, for taking care of me that night.” The pencil scratches softly across the paper. “For coming too.”

I didn't answer immediately. I’ve never been great at expressing myself. So instead I smoke, letting the steam fill the silence. And after a while I finally replied.