I memorize the sway of her curls as she walks away, through the orange arch, past the cramped tables and the buzzing gelato display. I bask in the warm cinnamon heat, wishing I had held back till we finished the sugary churro funnel cake she had ordered with uninformed optimism. But the words had absconded from my throat, resisting coherence till her mascara-streaked face turned away forever. So, I count down four minutes with the untouched churro, then walk past the orange arch, cramped tables and buzzing gelato display, into the bittersweet night, leaving behind the imprint of her curls.
Moh Afdhaal spends his days on construction sites. He spends his nights writing flash fiction. Find Moh on Twitter @mohwritesthings.