They sat at lunch, two cups of cutting chai between the, heaps of magazines strewn all around them.
He had consistently delivered eloquent, powerful pictures, with unsaid things trembling at the corners, his work possessed the dazzling thread of permanence. She admired the oblique humour and throb of passion, but she was more fixated on his eyes.
His brown eyes.
Fate had dealt him a deck aflush with aces when it came to his eyes.
She leaned forward, scanning his eyes with that razor-sharp gaze of hers.
"Do you love me?"
He was silent, brooding, his cigarette in place, smoking rings of smoke away from himself.
"What is love? How do you define it?" he asked.
This time, she was silent.
"So you don't love..."she murmured, the answer quite loud and buzzing in her head.
He grinned." Let's watch Coffee and Cigarettes together."
He was always in search of images that would reveal their dark images to him. Always inside his head.
But she had lit a fire inside him.
She just didn't need to know.