MORGANA FOSTER I try not to drool and look like the damn most pathetic thing in the world as I stare at him standing in front of me like a Roman god. Automatically, I feel my body tense, and I swallow hard, admiring how well time has treated him. He looks like a more mature and serious man. He smells like coffee, Mentos, and fresh orange. He has a firm and seductive gaze, much sharper now. Mature and captivating. While I must look like the same simple and inexperienced girl he met in the eighth grade, wearing jeans and band T-shirts. "So, Morgana, how are you?" he said, running his hand through his hair, looking into my eyes with the same gallant smile of our youth. "I'm fine," I replied, feeling a burn under his eyes. "And how about you? I haven't seen you in so long." "Yeah, four years!" he observes with a hint of sadness in his voice, and I feel my chest tighten. "Quite a long time, huh? What have you been up to?" I shake my head and swallow a lump in my throat. I always knew I
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