Flash Fiction: Sweet Intervention

Pink or purple, he could not decide which to settle for. His eyes met the bottle of perfume you treasured, not the same one but its type, the one you only dabbed on Sundays. Not sure if he should switch to buying that, he rolled his fingers into a fist and shook them like they held dice within. By the time he unfurled the ball of his fist, he had somehow gravitated towards the sales attendant, the one with glittering skin, not as evenly toned liked yours but she smelled as good.

“I was thinking of buying her a good perfume, one with a luring smell like yours,” he said, pointing to the row where bottles in varying amusing shapes sat like mini-gods. Her eyes rolled half-clockwise and her smile dipped towards the left corner of her lips. He adjusted his gaze. “Actually, I was even thinking of getting her lingerie,” he said. She looked at him and allowed the curve of her lips stretch into a crescent before she said “Colour, size?”

It was then he realised he had been thinking in colours without shapes. He remembered the first day you sat beside him in the chapel wearing that blue silk gown, the one that drooped a bit at the front. He could still feel you brushing his arms as you made to pick your jotting pad from the floor before he offered to help. But he knew. He felt more than what he saw. These things are measured in cups but he could not even think of an alphabet. The attendant tapped on the table. He looked up and then down, beyond her necklace. He didn’t know for sure how she would react but he would do anything for you, even risk a slap and just as he made to speak, you tapped him from behind.


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