She likes him. She says he is handsome, flawless, amazing. Perfect. She doesn’t know him. He isn’t who he seems. Each smile and laugh disguises him even more; he has a mask. He wears it everyday. He doesn’t want her to know the true him, but she wants to.

He goes through the problems that have gravitated to him as he lay in bed. Family. He is strong now; he is leather. Tough. Those tears no longer fall and his eyes are no longer confused. She doesn’t know what he is going through; she doesn’t know him.

She grilled him in every conversation, and now, she could almost see the mask. He can trust her, but he doesn’t. He can’t. He won’t. Then, he almost does for one conversation. The conversation. He doesn’t know her. She doesn’t know him.