Page XXVIII - Mimosa Pudica

Celaine was sitting there adjacent to Theodore but the two of them didn't say a word to each other the entire time.

She began to take a peek as she tries to hide her face from him. At first, she tried to ask questions but all Theodore answered was a single 'Hmm.' as he continued flipping on his book.

"Deep in thought." Celaine told herself as she observed him. She didn't understand what's going on his mind. So she minded her own business just as he did.

She opened her bag and laid out the notebook in front of her and began to write.

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There he sat.

His mouth didn't open to chat.

His cold eyes that pierces one's soul

And his aura that can eat one's whole.

His guard was up

Letting no one break through his setup.

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"Ahh... does that make sense? Well, I wanted to tell that he doesn't want anyone prying into his life that much... And I couldn't find any rhymes other than that..." Celaine's inner monologue began to try and think of a way on how to change things. But it was too late.

"Hmm." For Theodore was reading her every move.

"...Close." He was inches away from her face as he was reading the thing Celaine wrote. "Ah!" She then immediately covered the notebook by putting her arms over it and pulling it towards her.

Theodore went back to his original position and the silence continued on. Few seconds later, Theodore brought out his own notebook and pen and began to write.

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There she sat,

Her mouth opened like she wanted to chat,

But as she tries to hide her face from that book,

Curiosity got to me as I voluntarily got on her hook,

I looked over to her as she was writing,

And there I was, within the contents of her wanting.

For she described me,

Then I shall describe thee.

Her stature was small, easily to be devoured,

Like the mimosa pudica, the flower.

A single touch and I couldn't help but be worried,

If the wind blows her, as she's to be carried

Into a garden of predators

For she will not be a survivor.

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Theodore then showed Celaine the poem that he wrote.

Her eyes lit up as she read his poem. But he ignored her vocal emotions on the matter. "Pretty... But, mimosa... pu- pudica?"

"Ah. Its a type of flower and its leaves are... quite unique. You can just look it up later."

"You're even more... silent today than usual."

"Hmm."

She gathered up her courage before saying her next words, "A- anything w- wrong?"