Standing three people ahead of him as they queued for the meal, her presence lit up the room.Facedown he moved averting any eye contact, but her image couldn’t be effaced from his memory.
“I have never known you as one who shrinks from contact with others, why this quietude?…”
A husky voice from behind whisked him from the fantasy world he formed the first time he stared at her.
“Speak to me my friend, what is troubling you?” the friend queried in a manner of a persistent teacher who strives to get at least a nod from a ‘no idea’ student.
He was still not certain whether it was his cerebrum working or its role had been overpowered by her beauty.
“My friend…” he started. Yamikani turned to him eager to hear what had numbed his mesho.
“Wake up! wake up! kwacha!”, mum screamed.
It was all just dream.
Maybe she exists, perhaps not. The July Apple