She was sitting across him in the cosy restaurant of a 5-star hotel. Her hands were twisting the teacup on its saucer, a clear sign of edginess.
`You’ve not finished your dessert,’ he says, looking at the half-eaten apple pie on the small plate on the table.
`I am not actually hungry,’ she responds. He just nods, sips his coffee and looks at her in silence. It is obvious that she wants to say something but probably finding it hard to know where to begin. The restaurant is practically quite now, with most of the lunch crowd already gone.
She takes a deep breath and then asks, `Why are you leaving?’
`It is time to do so,’ he answers with a subtle shrug of the shoulders.
`There must be more reasons than that?’
`Yes, there are I guess… but it won’t make a difference for you to know.’
`Uh-huh… who am I to be asking you these things, right?’, she rhetorically asks in a resigned tone.
He does not give an answer... because he knows there isn’t a correct one.