Story In Progress

They met on a bench in Central Park. The moment was magical; typical New York City wintertime with light snowflakes falling.
He was writing. She was reading. They were both Libras. Both under 30. Both lived way downtown and had faced the cold for some Central Park winter inspiration.
Her gloved fingers could turn the pages of her book, while his bare hands were frozen around his pen. They traded. Gloves for a scarf. They forgot to trade back later that afternoon. Each still keeps the other's article of winter clothing as a memento dear to their hearts.
She was reading a Russian novel of love & betrayal. He was writing a story of lust and mystery.
They began talking. They both hated math, loved the ocean, had never been to Australia (though his "Aussie" accent sounded quite real) and they were both attending college in the city. He lived alone in a loft in the Lower East Side. She lived (temporarily) with a rich girlfriend she'd gone to elementary school with...
TO BE CONTINUED...
-b.