and there he was again.

he sat next to you in the italian course you took every week twice during your evenings. you had moved to turin a few weeks ago for your job, yet the language was harder to learn than you thought.

“what time is it?” he asked, like always.

there was a clock on the wall, and he wore his watch on his wrist. yet like always, you answered, because you knew this was his excuse to talk to you.