You were at my sister's gallery. You looked at the statues and remarked on their realism. My sister guided you around in her mirrored sunglasses and hijab. I was back at the register, too shy to speak, but you glanced my way several times. My sister started to take her glasses off, but your phone buzzed and you left just after.
I'd like to see you again. Most people who come to the gallery never look at me, not really. And since you gave your name as Percy, I think we might have things to talk about.