Wrapped up in a thin white cotton sheet, she is looking at her sun, feeling the warmth of his eyes. They have kept her warm this winter. In that moment she is not silly, not stupid, not ugly and neither is she a mess. She is herself. There is nothing in between them. Just a passage of unsaid words and deeply satisfying glances hangs in thin air.

Sometimes she catches herself out of line and corrects herself, only to see him smiling back at her. She looks deep into his eyes for a moment, he acknowledges her presence there, even welcomes her in, but then she withdraws. She is afraid his eyes will break the code of silence.

She does not know what she has done to deserve this warmth. Her sun must also burn deep inside. Can she help? Perhaps she can share her winter with him…

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