Blanka Lipinska

“Why do I get the feeling you’re following me?” I asked, crossing my arms.
He raised his right hand and slowly took my glasses off to see my eyes. It felt like he was taking away my shield. Suddenly I was out in the open. “It’s not a feeling,” he said, looking me straight in the eyes.
“It’s not coincidence, either. Happy twenty-ninth birthday, Laura. May the coming year be the best in your life,” he whispered, and placed a delicate kiss on my cheek.