He loves me.
I love knowing this. It’s awkward and inconvenient; undeniable in heightening my awareness.
He speaks only a little English, but strong emotions need no translation.
I nod at him, smiling. I’m polite, remote, yet his heart races when he sees me. His eyes follow me. I pass close enough to sense his warmth. He draws a deep breath, capturing my wake.
He loves me. This needs no proof but makes no sense. He doesn’t know me.
Perhaps he loves what I represent or what he imagines of me. Perhaps I crossed a line, sending unintended signals.
This 100 word drabble-fiction is relatively unprompted.