Once again, she gathers her hair and moves it behind her shoulders. Instinctively, I remove the hair tie that’s been sitting on my wrist for way longer than it should have and hold it out. “Here.” She stares at my hand until recognition crosses her features. “That’s mine.” “Good observation. Take it.” “You kept my hair tie?” Now that I think about it, it is kind of creepy. Who in their right mind holds a girl’s hair tie for weeks without having plans to use or return it? The look on her face tells me she might be thinking the same thing. “You said you like your hair up.” “So you just, what,
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HE. KEPT. HER. HAIR. TIE. IM SOBBING.
