The door opened and she came into the room. He was lying on the bed and worried immediately that he somehow looked undignified. As he tried to straighten himself out, a thought appeared in his head: “Oh, he looks sweet.” Not a thought of his, but he heard it all the same.
“Hey,” he said, “how are you?”
“I’m good,” she said, and she broke into a smile from the shyness.
He looked at her for a second and thought how beautiful she looked, and much he fancied her. Then he remembered himself. “Sit down,” he said, pointing at the chair. And then he heard in his head: “Rather sit on the bed.”
He struggled to get his voice above a mumble. “Or ...” he said, nodding at the bed.
He cursed. He knew that when he was too shy, he might seem rude, or just retarded. But she took the hint, and sat on the bed, beside him. He wanted to touch her.
She looked at him, the edge of her lip caught between her teeth. Another strange thought crossed his mind, one that couldn’t possibly have been his: “He’s got lovely eyes.” They looked at each other for a minute. He suddenly had a crazy idea. “Can I hear her thoughts?” he asked himself. And without having looked away, they somehow found themselves looking at each other even more. He wanted to worship her skin, it was like a rich blanket he wanted to cuddle up to. He wanted to cuddle it and never get up again. She let go of her lip to smile broadly for a second, before a slight frown crossed her eyebrow. Then he heard another thought that wasn’t his: “A blanket?” And he thought: “How did she know what I was thinking?”
They both sat up. “Can you hear what I’m thinking?” they thought, their eyes lit with fear and awe.
