A city that never sleeps
As they began to play, Amara's movements were graceful yet deliberate. Each piece she moved seemed an extension of herself, placed with the precision of a predator stalking its prey. Her fingers, long and elegant, would sometimes linger on a piece, a subtle gesture that George couldn't help but find mesmerizing.
"So, George," Amara said casually as she captured one of his pawns, "tell me more about your life before. What kind of man were you?"
George, recognizing the probing question for what it was, carefully considered his response. "I was... ordinary, I suppose. Had a job, a home, a..." he hesitated, the memory of Carmen flashing painfully in his mind.
Amara, noticing his hesitation, raised an eyebrow. Her fingers drummed lightly on the table, a gesture that seemed to convey both curiosity and impatience. "A what, George? A girlfriend? A wife?"
George swallowed hard, moving his knight. "A wife," he admitted softly.