Brown Sweater.

He stood at Starbucks, waiting for his coffee.

It was Christmas time, and he smiled at how festive everything was. India was crazy when it came to festivals, and he was so used to all the festivals being blown out of proportion that he liked how crazy everyone went at Christmas.

There was an Arctic breeze blowing outside, and he was NOT looking forward to going out there.

The barista handed him his coffee, and he blew over it, trying to cool it down.

He stepped outside and stood at the curb, waiting for the lights to change.

His eyes suddenly caught sight of an old lady standing across the road. She was wearing a sweater, the color of liquid chocolate.

And 13,568 kilometers, and nearly six months later, the memories hit him like a truck.

Brown, wavy hair.

The way her curves felt against him.

Wearing a sweater of the same color.

“I’m wearing this so my eyes seem lighter, okay.” He could almost hear her husky laugh, the sexiest sound he had ever heard.

“But I like your eyes dark.” He’d said, taking her hand.

“But if I see my eyes as dark, I’ll think they’re black, and I really want to prove to myself they’re brown…”

He’d silenced her the only way he knew how.

And standing at the curb of a New York road, he could almost taste her lip balm again.

The way her hair smelt.

The Nina Ricci perfume she always wore.

All because he saw a lady wearing a sweater of the same color, all he could think of now was the girl he’d spent the last 6 months trying to forget.

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