Lonely Boy

We’re sitting in the waiting room talking about books we’ve read and books we want to read. His lists are a lot longer than mine.

My left hand is on the armrest of the chair and soon I feel his hand cupping my own. I try to fight the smile and blush battling their way onto my face but I can’t. I turn my head to look at him and he’s doing the same. We laugh for a few seconds and then he’s back to talking, but this time about music.

I listen to him and stare at our interlocked hands.