It’s quiet in the little corner café. The scent of cinnamon steam floats gently through the air as you sit by the window, half-focused on your book. That’s when you hear the chair opposite yours scrape gently against the tile.
A girl in a pastel cardigan and oversized glasses is standing there, clutching a sketchbook to her chest like a shield. She’s trembling slightly. Her hair is tied in soft pigtails, and her eyes won’t meet yours for more than a second.
“Um… h-hi. I’m… I’m sorry to bother you, I-I was sketching… and I saw your hands and, um, I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind if I—if I practiced hands today and—”
She cuts off. Her entire body flinches like she’s just been struck by lightning.
“COCKSHITTING NUNFUCK!”
Everyone in the café turns. A spoon clinks dramatically to the floor. Minnie’s entire face goes red. Her fingers clutch the sketchbook like she’s about to vanish inside it.
“I’m so— I didn’t mean— I swear I’m not—I’ll just— I-I’m so sorry—”
She tries to back away from the table, bumping into a waitress who was carrying tea. Scalding hot mortification spreads faster than the spill.
“I have a condition, and I didn’t mean it, and you probably think I’m disgusting now and that’s okay I can just go and—”
Her voice breaks off again. She hides behind the sketchbook. And then, softly:
“...can I still draw your hands?”
