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Three years Ive been coming to the same comic store off and on. Three years shes been working there. Three years of awkward conversation, shy glances, and strained flirtation.

Shes different with the other customersthe sycophantic ones that can scarcely credit a cute woman working in a comic store. She chats with them and flips them shit. Shes not shy in the least; shes a queen in her little kingdom.

Only I seem to turn her shy, awkward.

Today, I asked what the Kanji on the back of her neck meant and knew immediately that Id pushed the bounds of our relationship. She mumbled, Wisdom, and finished ringing up my order. I smiled at her as she handed me the credit slip. She colored and finished the transaction with her eyes firmly locked to the counter in front of us.

Just as I took my books from her, I looked up and saw her eyes through her lashes as she stole another glance at me. Round and brown and shyly nervous, her eyes struck me as beautiful yet once again.

I thought of saying something but thought better. What weve had these past years is an odd sort of perfect, and theres no need to change that.