A short story for the wicked...
He walked into her life and at that moment, she didn't even know he was what she was missing. They both experienced something that couldn't be described in words. Their eyes were parched, glazing back at one another, hungry to uncover the labyrinth of each other's souls. Their mouths were dry, the way the inside of your tongue feels after you drink an old-world, high acidity wine. A wave of uncertainty passed through them, but the curious possibility of discovery halted any doubt.
He made conversation, attempting to sound witty, hoping to be liked. She engaged with banter, trying to define her personality, hoping to be loved. She had been someone that, at any given moment, had many men in love with her. She offered those men nothing more, but a friendship they had never known, but they always wanted more. It wasn't that she took lightly the desire that she aroused of her friendly companions; she was just searching for the unordinary. But he was different. He showered her with obeisance, expressed admiration and even a fascination that she had not known before. She was intrigued.
It was a fleeting certainty that had vanished just as fast as it had come. She wasn't certain whether it was a game, or simply the guise of a game, not knowing someone, yet being entirely moved by them. Perhaps she thought, it is the idea that circulates around a mysterious encounter; one in which excites you in the moment, yet makes you fascinated for the next part. But perhaps it is more acute than an amorous communion. The very conception of which was arduous, but whose force she could not and would not deny.
For a moment, time stopped and there was nothing but endless conversation that kept them both held in captivity. They both were dreaming of this moment before it had even happened.