Your voice is beautiful, he’d remarked. It took her by surprise. Angel couldn’t sing a note and had no idea to what he was referring. He so stunned her she didn’t reply but stared in confusion sitting solitarily alone on the bench overlooking the seawall.
The following day, he returned yet again and as he walked by once again said, “Your voice is beautiful.” Again she stared in awestruck wonder and confusion.
The third time he wandered past Angel bravely held out a hand, “You’ve spoken thus three times. To what do you refer? I love music but…”
He held out a hand, “Geoff”, pausing a moment he continued, “Your articles in the University Paper. I love your voice.”
“I doubt anyone could have said anything more delightful, thank you indeed,” she continued, “may I ask what in particular speaks to you?”
“It’s what you say, but more, how you say it, it’s melodic, it sings with passion hitting all the right notes.”
“Please have a seat,” she invited.
“Are you a writer or journalist yourself?”
“I am when I read your words.”
“You are full of flattering words I wish to believe but…”
“You will, given time, I speak from the heart.”
As introductions went, it was one of most unusual she’d ever encountered. Interesting. Worthy of consideration.