His Poker Face

Today was just his day and his best luck, despite of his tormented heart. Ah heart, as if that shredded 'thing' could still be called as 'heart'.

He smiled like no other. His cards were just invented by god of luck. He won every game and well, no one could beat him. He basked into girls' attention. Blew by blew, the more he won, the more girls lurked into his side. Typical.

They touched him intimately, suggested a sensuous promise that most likely be fulfilled tonight if he let them. While they fought each other to get his attention best, he could not help but stole a glance to her table.

She seem upset--he knew whenever she was frustrated: she simply smoked. He then turned his attention back to the table. It was better if she did not regard his dark mood. He did not like it if she could see through him.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

He started to get tired and fed up with the crowd nevertheless. Unfortunately, he could not leave the table grumpily--not within her sight.

From the corner of his sight he saw she finally left her table rather hastily. Like her seat was on fire. Unbeknown to her, he was aware of her glances upon him several seconds and he, of course, made every second counted.

He put his best poker face...

However, once she left, he let his pain ate him alive.

It was time to escape!

He  rudely shrugged off all the filthy hands and collected his coins. Did not even bother to say goodbye to his fellow poker players, he left the table. He simply wanted to go and be himself...swallowed by his messy feeling.

***

From afar... he saw her crying through the night. She hugged her knees in the corner bench, while watching the dancing fountain. She did not smoke--she just simply sitting there and let her pain ruled over her pride.

Him?

He watched her downfall like she was his favorite silent movie.

While inside, he felt that he was also breaking slowly.

And the night went by, failed to answer why they both were put in that torturing complicated fate.