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What could have been
Bette walked slowly along the promenade, her left hand in the front of her jeans’ pocket, the right one trailing along the metal rungs of the railings separating the road from the beach below. She started counting the street lights along the way, the simple globes of light illuminating her path and the unusually quiet seafront.
Maybe she began the methodical count to give her mind something to do, something to do other than think that is.
Because if she allowed her mind to wander, it irreversibly turned to the one thought; to the one person; to that beautiful blonde.
They had met – of sorts – briefly. As brief as their encounter could have been if it were measured against the immensity of time itself. It was but a glimpse. It would register certainly such had been the intensity of that singular meeting but only infinitesimally.
Because no matter how brief, their encounter, their connection had been undeniable from the off. The kind only heard about in films. The kind which had set her mind reeling. The kind which had made her heart beat faster than it ever had. The kind which had finally nearly made her rethink her whole life.
Especially, the first time she heard her voice. All light and airy. It was like a tinkling of bells. She had a beautiful voice especially when she whispered. It turned soft and light like silk, washing over her, honey like, running slowly enveloping, coating all it touched in a warm, cosy feeling.
Bette had dared to dream then.
All kinds of scenarios.
Imagining meeting in a different setting. Imagining it to be the very first time in a pre-arranged situation. Catching a flash of blonde hair from the corner of her eyes in that crowded place only to stop, turn and watch as gentle hazel eyes turned as well to meet her expectant gaze.
A hug would ensue.
A simple gesture which Bette knew already would be enough to make her catch her breath within her throat and to the point even where the brunette would loathe breaking the experience just to allow herself to breathe again.
The smell of her perfume; Fresh, subtle. Definitely a contact fragrance. The kind which Bette wanted to always recognise. The kind which she had decided she would love instantly and pray that she’d be able to smell again and again and again.