The reconciliation

How long has she been curled up on the armrest, scowling? Probably long enough to be wondering why she started sulking in the first place.

At the other end of the couch, despite a few furtive glances, he's standing still.

She wishes he would make a move toward her, but she knows very well he won't.

This is how she loved him, a silent and discreet mystery, so why ask him to change now?

Slowly, she streches her leg along the cushion, and finishes by placing her amused toes all against the circumspect thigh.

Long seconds pass, like an unbearable delay of probation.

Gently, he finally raises his hand, lays it on the impatient foot, without turning his head, but with a half-smile on his lips.

Two sighs are heard.