Immediately his eyes meet mine, stretching wide, eyebrows arched to the sky. And now he is grinning. “You laughed,” he says, flustered with levity. I look down, smiling. I forgot how good it felt to actually laugh, release the built-up tension from my chest. “Yes, I did.” “That was—incredible.” His eyes soften. “You know I haven’t heard that—well, it’s a pleasant change from your constant frowning.” “Why?” I twist my fingers in a loose strand of hair. “Everyone laughs.” “Not you,” he argues. “Not genuinely, at least. You force it or don’t have the urge to let it out at all.”
