Destined Hassles

Flora and Adrian squinched in the quiet of the emulsion's reverse room, their voices little more than a murmur as though not wishing to break the fragile peace that had grown between them. It was late — so late that indeed the perpetual drone of distant exertion had desisted — and yet every judgment they uttered was laced with an intensity that belied the hour.

" Flora," Adrian began, his voice low and reflective," I could not help but wonder how we met. It's as if fate ...