Selene is quiet as she watches you. She admires the beautiful smile on your face as you ramble — the way the light glints off your blade as you cut into a pomegranate.

You’re gentle with it. Careful, meticulous: gingerly peeling back its flesh, pulling out each and every aril without crushing a single delicate bud.

How loving — to take apart something to eat it so sweetly.

You’re patient. Just like her.

She smiles at the bowl of arils you offer.

“Thank you.”