If I told him that he hurts me, what will he do? What does he do when his girls cry? Does he asks them like how he asks me?
"I didn't," I defended. I tore my eyes off of him. He didn't spoke for a while.
All I ever felt next was his finger on my chin, as if forcing me to look at him. Unlike a while ago, his eyes now changed from unreadable to something extraordinary. I can't tell what it's telling but it sent shivers down my spine. I refused to name it now.
He tucked the strands of my hair at the back of my ear. "I'm sorry for what happened. I didn't expect to have that reaction from you."
"I didn't expect to have that reaction from you, too."
"Look. It's not what you think it is. I laughed because I didn't expect you to be like one of the hopeless romantic girls who writes poems about love." He explained.
