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The Dark

The room is quiet. Everything is still, albeit the soft clicking of laptop keyboards in the silence. He's got his work spread across his desk while she sits cross-legged on his couch, typing away at her laptop that rests unsteadily on her ankles.

Outside, the autumn wind breezes past, carrying a whirl of bronze leaves with it. The sky soon begins to imitate them, showing off its own layers of rose and honey. The sun fades and the room grows dim. He stands up to switch on the lights, an implicit act in seeking validation. He notices that she has stopped writing and has her laptop shut. She is quiet, head turned towards the window where little specks of light start to emerge against the darkening sky.

"Do you want the lights off?" he asks, catching onto her body language.

He sees her silhouette nod and push a stray strand of hair behind her ear, pulling her legs closer to her chest. She continues to stare out the window.

"I like the dark," she says. "It make…

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