We were back home, and Triston went back to his window where he stared ahead, while I went to sorting the clothes.
His suit had been neatly ironed from the store and smelled of newly bought cloth.
It was beautiful.
So, I hanged it in his closet, placing the trouser neatly beside it.
All the while, the thought of what happened at the store not leaving my head.
It probably shouldn't be taken as much of a big deal as I did, but the fact it hadn't meant anything to him, made me feel weird.
Like I was hurt.
Especially since it seemed like I had wanted to be his girl.
What on earth did that even mean?
None of my ex's had called me their girl, so I had no idea what to make of it.
After much thought and setting his clothes, no sensible answer clarified the question.
“What does it mean t
