By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu
Michael stopped in his tracks. He slowly narrowed his eyes, looking deep and far. This girl made his heart ache. He seemed to have seen her before. But with her head hanging down, he could not see her face. But then, he wished she was the girl of yesterday. He wanted to reach out his hands and hug her. What if she wasn’t the girl of yesterday? And if she were the girl he had expected her to be, would she hate him for knocking her down? At that thought, he went closer and gracefully half squatted down in front of her.
He lowered his eyes to coldly examine the bruise on her knee.
Chioma noticed a familiar smell; the air was filled with a faint smell of chanel perfume. It was indeed refreshing. This reminded Chioma of the man she met yesterday. Didn’t that cold-handsome man also have this smell?
At that moment Chioma raised her head and was shocked at the same time pleased to see this stunning man, wearing a homemade suit made by a designer in Milan. He was looking stylish as always. The two of them stared at each other, seemingly forgetting to breath.
As their gazes met, they found it difficult to speak. Michael coughed slightly as if mustering courage, then he looked at one of her slender legs that were smeared with blood. He wanted to wipe off the blood that trickled along the delicate curves of her leg but didn’t have the courage to do so. Perhaps he was afraid she would get mad and curse at him! He was also afraid she would misunderstand him.
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