Who Knows the Stranger

“Come here,” he called to her. She thought his hair looked like dusk, she was one of those people. His clothes then wouldn’t be described not as a shirt and jeans but as wisps of gentle armour against his skin.

She wasn’t worried that a stranger was calling her over. She was at uni, in the well-occupied quadrangle and knew better than to let him lure her to a secluded corner. And, who knows, this could be the love of her life.