BetrayStoriesThe Watch on My Wrist
2 min de lectura · Anónimo · Premium
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The candle flickered between us, casting shadows that danced across Elena’s face as she laughed at something I’d said. It was our two-year anniversary, and I’d chosen Il Forno because the tiramisu was her favorite. She looked beautiful in that red dress, the one she’d worn on our first date. I almost forgot about my dead Apple Watch strapped to her wrist—a compromise we’d made after I complained about missing my step goal.
‘I’ll be right back,’ she said, dabbing her lips with the napkin. ‘Don’t eat my breadsticks.’
La historia continúa…
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