24 hours. That’s the amount of time she had him to herself. For anybody else, that would’ve meant nothing. But crawl into her head, and you’ll know how much it meant to her. She spent the day looking into those hazel brown eyes, seeing the funny curvature of his nose, admiring the soft brown curls that fell notoriously on his forehead and falling back in love with the cute black mole on his cheek. As the last couple of hours approached, she decided to spend it at their favourite restaurant, having their favourite meal. She watched him scratch his stubble as he spoke, hearing his voice tugged the strings of her heart, and just like that, in one second, the world seemed alright. She dug into the slab of the soft and succulent basa, and it just felt like old times. But halfway into devouring the glazed onions and tangy peppery pimento puree, the story expired. And from then, the wait for the next 24 hours started.