Cynthia's POV
I like him.
In no other moment have I seen it so clearly. I like Arther, I don't know what I like about him, what's the reason? I don't even know. I just know, in this moment, very clearly, that I like him.
The shoes he gave me, the dew-stained roses, the kisses under the moon, and the confused, bewildered, heartfelt things that I didn't know who to tell. I must admit that I like him.
The thought seemed like a thunderbolt from the sky, the thrill of keeping a secret that made me clutch my skirt for a moment, my mind unnoticed by anyone, leaving me alone, like standing on an island, waiting for the coming storm.
How could I ever like him... Those happy and melancholy mood, gradually turned into a little sad, how can I like Arther? Our identity, the ethical gap... Even if
