After a long rain, the Mondrovia sky sparkles like a galaxy, stars scattered everywhere. While we chose to dine on the rooftop to enjoy this beauty, I am distracted—my mood has unexpectedly shifted, sour and sharp, like biting into a lemon.
This is what jealousy must feel like; it's the first time I felt such a sensation.
I didn't plan it. It simply coils inside me at the moment while I wait for Adrian on the rooftop after dinner. A goes to stand by the rail looking into the city while facing me but his expression said it all; he looked soft and warm.
A kind of tenderness he rarely expresses to people, maybe with me sometimes, too.
My chest tightens like a fist closing around something fragile.
"Elena," he says, turning toward me.
I don't give him time to school his expression, or to hide whatever softness was in his eyes a moment ago.
"Who was that?" It slips out before I can control it, sharp and direct, like a blade thrown rather than placed gently on a table.
