Aida Zabidi
“Do you love me?” 

I watched his eyes grow wide in that manic sort of way it usually did whenever a question almost threw him off, and he burrowed under his blankets. Classic. 

“Can’t tell you! That’s not macho!” 

Almost typical. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

Two seconds later, peeked out of the blanket and looked at me, almost to gauge the reaction on my face. I don’t know what he saw, because I, for one, wasn’t even sure what I felt at that point of time. 

He then crept up to me and held my face close to his, before turning his head to whisper, “I love you. But don’t tell anyone. Not macho.” 

Silly boy.
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