[Flash fiction is an umbrella term used to describe any fictional work of extreme brevity, including the Six-Word Story, 140-character stories, also known as twitterature, the dribble (50 words), the drabble (100 words), and sudden fiction (750 words)]

Someone had left the French windows open. I was in no mood to get up and close them. I lay listlessly on my bed watching the billowing lace curtains, the breeze lifting them almost to the roof where they fluttered in abandon allowing me a glimpse of the front garden.

Beyond the open door the grass looked a beautiful green, wet still from the rain that fell last night. The pink ixoras that lined the lawn looked so pretty. I could even see a patch of blue sky from where I lay. But none of it filled me with joy as the sight of the man walking towards me through the open door. My breath caught in my throat. He was here!

The breeze chose that exact moment to subside and the curtains now left alone, tumbled down on him. I watched with amusement as he extricated himself and emerged from its folds. He smiled, but the smile vanished when he got closer, to be replaced with a look of smouldering passion. I felt myself going limp with desire.

He looked so handsome. The off-white linen shirt and fawn coloured trousers hugged his frame flatteringly. His dark hair, now slightly in disarray, fell luxuriously to his shoulders. He crossed over to my bedside with panther-like grace. I closed my eyes and tilting my face backwards, waited for his lips to find mine, my body half rising in invitation and anticipated ecstasy for his arms to hold close.

At last. The moment I had hoped for had arrived. Nothing, no one, could take it away from me, I swore to myself. Too soon. There was a most irritating buzz in my ears distracting me, taking away from the romantic moment. I flung my arms out in annoyance and upset something that clattered to the floor. Jumping up I looked down. My phone continued vibrating insistently from where it had fallen.

The French windows were closed just as I had left them last night. The curtains hung sedately in their place, unmoving, with no breeze to play games with them. I felt utterly foolish. Stop , just stop, I told myself. He has made his bed with your best friend. Leave him to lie in it. He has no place in my life, not even in my dreams, I reminded my brain sternly.

Outside the rain was falling. It was time for a hot cup of tea and a good book to read.

Shail Mohan 2023

FOWC: Foolish, Subside