He watched
her walk in and move to a distant aisle as if she was being blindly lead by a
call. He closed the newspaper and stood up. Addressing himself to her, pacing his
steps with the sound of a classical music that oozed from the speakers of the
place, inadvertently invaded her protective circle of solitude, causing her
certain discomfort. But she didn’t give him the grace of looking up to consider
his presence. She just ignored him.
Amid
the placid sound of the environment, the seductive voice of that intruder
disturbed her.
— This book is
not much of a help. — He said smiling disconcertingly, watching the self-help
book she was lamely holding with the left hand.
— Sir, — she said
with a slight but unmistakable indignation in her voice — I do not want to be
rude, but you're bothering me.
The phrase
surprised herself, who wasn't very much aware that she had become so naturally
defensive. She acknowledged immediately, however, that the book would not serve
her in anything. Her hand barely held it among the fingers, refusing to admit
that she was considering it an option.
The
man laughed less pointedly, as if to demonstrate he knew that her answer was
just a typical and predictable charm. He could foresee her frailty and read her
gestures with the cunning of a ventriloquist.
—
Sorry. — He answered, putting his hands up, at the same time that his face bent
back down, surrendering. — I did not want to upset you.
For
the first time, she turned to see who the incomer was. She noticeably blushed,
noticing that he was a handsome man. The hand holding the book rejected it,
putting it back on the shelf. She intended to leave, but once again his voice
held her.
— I
know what you are looking for. - He said, this time with a grave and serious
tone. – You are after me.
— Who
are you? - She asked nervously, finally crossing her eyes with his.
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