I shop at her convenience store every day. It is two blocks away from my apartment in this ghost street. When the bell rings and she sees me, her lips twitch. I look at every product I already memorized along with its price to kill time and stay. In the counter, I get discounts. My favorite part is when I hand over my payment—the subtle touch of our skin for a moment.
Last afternoon, I walked in and noticed the bruises on her face. It was the first time I spoke a word to her when I asked her, “what happened?” I did not believe her when she responded she would be all right. Before I went out with my worries, she called out to me to tell me she would be closed for the summer. She let a tear slip and a sense of sadness dawned in me.
I stand in front of her closed store and read the posted paper on the window shutters. “Closed for the summer.” She did not say when the store would open again, but her defeated tone yesterday was enough to tell me it was our last encounter.
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