15. Last Time

As she climbed on the trellis separating their balconies, she wondered why she never get tired of their routing. She, sending endless messages. He, reading but ignoring them.

Yet, the balcony door was always open even before she could knock.

“I’ve been telling you to go through the front door,” he nagged.

“Too much hassle.”

“What if you fall?”

“That’ll be the last time,” she promised.

“You said that last time too.”

“Promise, this’ll be the last time I’ll climb into your room or send you messages,” she said before going out by the front door.

And indeed it was.

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A perpetual daydreamer who takes a break from public service by weaving words.

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