She watched him pull a small stack of sketches, her sketches, from his bag.

One was the back of his neck…soft brown curls just brushing his shirt collar.

One was his forearm resting on his desk…sleeve rolled up, pen balanced between his fingers.

One was his waist…his hands in his pockets, his bag hanging just behind one leg.

One was the profile of his face…his eyes sparkling as he stared off towards the corner of the page.

One was just his mouth…he smiled in that shy, self-deprecating way.

The last one was a dark charcoal of his desk…bare and empty.