*Subject to edits
In the end, they each paid for their own drink. He had reached the counter before her, so he ordered his drink (a Mocha Frappuccino without whipped cream) first, and as he waited for it at the pick-up counter he decided to spare a glance at her – who was still at the payment counter fishing out her Starbucks card from her purse – in order to see what he was unable to see earlier: a full body view of her. When he glanced at her, each eye of his saw a different image.
One eye saw a familiar girl in clothes which would seem ordinary on any other girl, but did not gel with the cute and innocent aura and image she possessed. Instead they suppressed her aura, concealed her image, corrupted both and in the end gave her an appearance that – when compared to her original self – seemed like one of a slut. The other eye simply saw an attractive stranger in clothing which seemed slightly sensual but respectable on her.
What he saw with the first eye made him feel slightly ill, while the image seen by the other eye made him feel a slight attraction.
At the same time, he felt as if he had another eye trained on her and it saw what the first eye had, but instead of making him feel sick it kindled a spark of lust, the corruption of her cute and innocent image attracting rather than revolting him.
“You still look the same.”
He turned from the glass wall he had been gazing through to look at her.
They were seated on sofas flanked by a glass wall on one side. There was another glass wall situated directly behind her. The primary view that it offered was a condominium block that looked unremarkable in daylight, but at this hour, when the lights from its windows combined with the darkness and the orange tinge of the streetlights below, it made for a decent sight.
“You still look the same,” she repeated after taking a sip from her drink (also a Mocha Frappuccino, but with whipped cream). She sat with her legs crossed, and given that she was wearing a miniskirt his curiosity and imagination were aroused against his will. “You look more or less like you did in high school. Or exactly the same, actually.”
“Well, it wasn’t that long ago,” he wanted to say, but he remembered that within a month of them completing their final examinations some of their peers had gone through noticeable changes in appearance, mostly by dyeing their hair.
Her long, straight hair had been dyed too. It was now a light shade of brown; he preferred its original dark brown colour.
“I get that a lot,” he said truthfully. “I just never thought about changing my appearance or dyeing my hair. I don’t see the point in it.”
“Mm, I understand,” she said. “A number of people I know didn’t bother about changing their looks either. But question: what about me? Do you think there’s no point in me dyeing my hair?”
What’s with this question? He took a sip of his own drink while shaking his head slowly, then took an exaggerated breath. “Mmm, that’s a tricky question.”
“Isn’t that a bit of a dramatic reaction?” she asked with a small chortle.
“I like to be a little dramatic sometimes,” he said with a little smile. “Anyway, I was kind of joking when I said it was a tricky question. I think I’ve got the answer already.
“Ooh, tell me.”
“Okay.” He paused briefly. When he spoke, he did so a little slowly. “Personally, I don’t see the point in you dyeing your hair, or anyone else dyeing theirs. I’ve got no issues with it, I mean it’s their hair, and in some cases I do think they look good with their dyed hair. I just don’t really see the point.
“But I don’t think that me not seeing a point means that there isn’t one. If the person who chose to dye their hair sees a point in doing so, then a point does exist, even if everyone else thinks that there isn’t one.
“So if you believe that there was a point in dyeing your hair, then there is. No matter how highly I think of my opinion, it doesn’t matter.”
After he had finished, there was a second of silence before he added, somewhat lamely: “That’s… what I think.”
The whole time he spoke, he had glanced in different directions but was conscious that her gaze had been fixed on him the whole time.
“So basically, you’re asking me if I think there’s a point in dying my hair,” she said.
He thought about it for a short moment. “Yeeeaah.. I think that sums it up pretty well.”
Her eyes finally left him as she turned slightly to her side, where the glass wall was. Then, she gave a little sigh.
“You know what? I don’t really think there is.”
Previous: Part 2
Note: I don’t think that I’ll be posting the rest of the story here. Same goes for any future story unless it’s not too long and fits in a single post.