Seven
On the first day of his second year at university, Paul noticed a girl in the front row of the lecture theatre. She had the sort of body a guy couldn’t ignore once she had crossed his field of vision, so he was sure he hadn’t seen her before. Not only was she stunningly beautiful, she had an aura about her that said: I know you’re all looking boys but get over it, I have. It was a countenance that let him know she was there to take part in a lecture, not a beauty pageant. He didn’t know who she was but she was obviously comfortable being herself.
Like most men his age, Paul didn’t know anything about masks and mirrors and shadow work. At twenty, he hadn’t heard of the golden child projection, or how easy it was to fall in love with yourself once someone was willing to be the screen
