They talk in short text messages peppered through the day. She tells him about her harried evening, a book she's been reading, and an incident at the store, while he tells her about his ongoing project, his travel plans and the quaint restaurant around the corner that serves the most divine kebabs. Simple, nondescript conversations that randomly meander through the mundane everyday.
But conversations have their own momentum. They gather you as acquaintances through polite pleasantries, then bind you in friendship through shared stories and genuine feeling. Sometimes, just sometimes, talk becomes heroin, pressing you on under its addiction towards an undefined intimacy, an amorphous longing...
She senses it when she checks her phone for a message from him when she wakes up. He doesn't even realise that the last thing he does every night before falling asleep with a smile on his face, is send her a kiss goodnight. Talk, that isn't innocent of yearning anymore.
But she's married, as is he. And somewhere across the kaleidoscope of words and subtle yet urgent attraction, a storm is brewing, gathering dark rain clouds that will carry them away, leaving destruction in its wake. Or wash them clean of their undeniable passion.
But they can't know this. Not now, on this rare, extraordinary morning with clear blue skies that promise only happiness.
"Awake?" he texts.
"No, dreaming," she replies.
