Peach

He’s just sitting on the edge of the bed, eating fruits, specifically biting them.
The smell of grape fruit, ananas, orange, kiwi is filled with this small hotel room.
She’s lying on her right side, she likes that sleeping position, not to pressure the heart, back to him, thinking if he would propose her some fruits, if he does, she would like to have a bite of kiwi, but she would never ask. At this very specific moment, she remembered her first lover in Paris. “Why now” she wondered. They haven’t talked to each other for more than a year and last time they saw each other, she could not even remember!
“Oh the peach”
If you describe a person, either by the smell, a piece of music, a plate, a gesture, for him, it must be the peach. He loves that shower gel, called “Le Petit Marseillais”, an old French brand, and they used to take shower together. “How strange it is, at this point.” He’s quite a different person now, being in charge of the business development for a luxury French jewellery brand in Beijing. All she remembered is the loft near Louvre, the peach smell of him and Noblesse Oblige’s “Daddy”.
She turned to another side, face to him, the man who’s willing to give her the whole world to, the man who’s madly in love with her and the man who’s thirty-one years elder than she is.

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