she and him

he liked her small movements, those tiny things only he noticed about her and which he was sure no one else knew. they were his closely guarded secrets in the moments he spent watching her. he knew that those hidden movements defined her personality.

the way she leaned her hip slightly to the left, propping open the refrigerator door with the curve of her leg and wrinkling her brow: her indecision. the way she rapidly pushed her hair up to the crown of her head, twisted, shaped, and packaged it with a rubberband, only to take it down two minutes later: her impetuosity. the way she showed anger not in her words, but in her eyes, which flashed and hardened, glittered dangerously as she spoke: a cold, controlled tempest of emotion. the way she tucked her hair behind her left ear when she was nervous and tugged at it when she was thinking: introspective.
he was the only one who noticed these small ticks, because on the outside, she carried with her a facade of perfection, hardly a crack in it and one on the ready for every occaision. she moved with ease through crowds, as a reveler would during a venetian carneval, wreathed in smiles or frowns or laughter. people forgot how frightening those masks can be - they are frozen in an emotion that never quite reaches the darkened slits standing in for the eyes.

he knew she watched him watching her, out of the corner of her eye. no matter where they were, the corners of her eyes could spot him and follow his movements. but as he wasn't talkative or emotive, she had no idea what he was thinking. did he fear her? does she amuse him? are they in love? those questions keep their relationship alive. she is protective of the mystery, for she fears for its longevity - if at any point the bubble of curiosity were to pop, she would become bored and he would become restive, and that would be

the end.