Zane
Amara was like no other girl or woman I had ever met. And that was a fact.
She was sweet, oddly innocent which stood out in stark contrast to her dark blue hair. She looked like she should be some kind of rebel, covered in tattoos and piercing and cursing every other word when in reality it was the complete opposite. And innocent was the only word I could think of that descried her. There was a vulnerability about her that drew me in and made me want to protect her.
We spoke freely, as she moved around the small galley kitchen. Fixing me food without any complaint. And she was interested in everything I had to say. Even stopping now and then, the food she was preparing forgotten as she turned to me, her eyes wide as she listened intently. I rambled on and on, talking about my bike
