'You're sad,'* he stated as though it was a sure fact. Like he had studied her happiness and measured its authenticity.
'Why would you say that?' she replied defensively.
'Because all those smiles you've given since you walked through that door...have been fake.' He said.
She froze mid turn as if she had been caught red handed, 'How could you know that?' she whispered.
'I know what you look like when you're happy', he said softly. 'You tilt your face and your smile stretches in a race towards your ears. A crinkle around your eyes appears like the stars in the night.' He told her about a person she never knew. One who had conversations between her eyebrows as she spoke, her hands danced as they spun and caressed the air. He weaved a character so familiar yet unknown.
'You're not happy Georgia,' he said sounding desperate. For what she didn't know.
He stopped speaking and the silence deafened between them. Neither of them moved and all of a sudden a chill ran down her spine as she dragged in a lungful of oxygen, her breathing jagged as it pounded and echoed in the room once creaking of the floorboards beneath them. Not a car drove by outside, nor did the wind howl as her heart drummed louder than the ticking clock. She knew that he had crept into the depth of the heart she swore she guarded so fiercely and made a home amongst the crevices unnoticed. Somehow she didn't realise that he had helped her fill in the cracks with him still in there. He was the cement that soldered her broken bits whole. She would do anything possible of her to make this man happy, just as he had made her smile with a genuineness she never knew existed. So as he awaited her reply she continued drying the dishes as if this conversation never happened.