She thought she could master the art of pretending. The art of playing dumb as long as she want. She thought her heart would stay impermeable. She thought she could resist the charm.
But the problem is, love grows. It deepens its roots, extends its branches. It fruits. It blooms. And like all the sweet melodious tune of love, it pins her. Fascinates and spellbinds her. And her heart looses its stiffness. It wasn’t tough hard anymore. It’s flabby. It’s like a child mesmerize by the light of fireflies. Flying low at a bank of a pond.
She wants to touch it. Curious with its warmth. She wants to jar it. Make them hers. She looks and feels and lured.
And finally, the magic enchants her.