It was almost as if I could not get enough of her, her eyes, her lips, the way she looked at me. I had stared at her so many times before, but not this intensely. She shone brighter; she shone differently, and for some seconds I began to wander. My schoolmates back then used to say women become very ugly after sex.
I was having a complete opposite of what they said, as she seemed even prettier to me, and I wish I was not being sent out.
"No, believe me, there was nothing to be jealous about; she was this old woman who would nag about everything, and when she died, I was very hurt," I said, adjusting my jacket.
"She died?" She asked me, wearing a sad look on her face, and I nodded my head slowly in agreement because the mere thought of it was painful.
