She smells like freshly baked vanilla biscuits. Her fragrance follows her wherever she walks and I can almost reach out and touch her in the corridors where she has stepped past, although out of sight, a few strides away, a short skip to the heaven in her presence. And in her presence, I do nothing but steal glances in her direction, sitting lower in the silence and not calling attention to myself, pretending that being near her is enough. She brings out the inner little boy, shy, stuttering and unsure of himself. When she smiles at me I become daft. What would it be like to grab her blonde-highlighted hair and pull her close to me, inhaling of her deeply from just inches?


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