The Dream
He was driving.
Except he wasn't.
She was.
In a jeep, somewhere outside a city he didn't recognize, on roads that had turned to mud. She knew the route. He didn't need to. That was the thing about being beside her. The destination had never been the point.
The road steepened. Without thinking, he offered his right hand toward hers on the wheel.
She didn't take it.
But she turned her face towards him. Just enough. And smiled.
Not a polite smile. Not a deflecting smile. The kind that arrives...