Waiting

He has not eaten an apple for more than a decade.

It is that time of the year again. Fruit vendors from the valley crowded markets with their stalls, inviting prospective buyers to come take a bite.

He looks around for that rosy glow on a smooth cheek behind the counters, but is disappointed again. He reaffirms his resolve to eat an apple only when he sees her.

The intense look in a pair of brown eyes stops him in his tracks. The mask obstructs his view, and the skin is not so smooth, the figure bloated.

Is it her?


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