The tapping of his fingers seemed obvious. Boredom. The signal was clear, and she was too caught up into what she was saying to notice. But he kept asking questions. She kept talking. And talking. And maybe the whole thing wouldn’t be as poignant if he weren’t attracted to her. He who wanted her to stop talking. She who allowed herself to indulge in thought after thought, expressed. She who assumed he was picking up the words and creating inferences, digging deeper understanding. But there was nothing. Nothing but attraction and boredom.