Sylvan Cheney leaned his head back, a phrase suddenly leapt to mind —
A heart in haste to return home.
He recalled those years when, almost every time he came home, she would be waiting on the sofa for him.
Sometimes, she would be watching TV and eating snacks; sometimes, she would have already fallen asleep.
But there were also a few times when he couldn't find her at home upon his return.
The two feelings were entirely distinct.
Some things, some sentiments were unconsciously buried in time and grew silently.
By the time they burst from the shell of the heart, they were firmly rooted, beyond any change.
One could consider it a habit, or an obsession.
The car continued to drive forward and, as they nearly reached the villa, Sylvan Cheney dialed Jasmine Yale's number on his phone.
"Why did you only just return my call, Mr. Cheney? Is it really you? Is it?"
Before he even had a chance to answer, a flustered voice came from the other end.
"Speak!"
