One Bottle, Two Bottle, Three Bottle

“One bottle, two bottle, three bottle,” Andy counted examining unfamiliar labels.

“Bottles.” Miley corrected.

“What?”

“Three bottles. Plural,” she explained without looking at him. She just had taken up plurals at school.

Andy nodded. He was not going to school yet.

“One bottle, two bottle, three bottle,” he repeated.

Miley didn’t say a word. She was painting. It was one of those paintings where fancy geometric shapes transformed into human figures.

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Maybe This Time

“My hair is a mess.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“No, seriously, just look at me. The Beast would look a Beauty compared to me.” She laughed.

He looked at her as she asked and could not really figure what her problem was. She was perfect. Her composed face reflected a quiet essence of maturity and confidence. Her blue eyes sparkled with joy and could penetrate deep into his soul and read each of his private thoughts and dreams, except for the ones which he was too afraid to admit even to himself.

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