Now it's Elle's head that's reeling. He knows her. He very clearly knows her. He... thinks he knows her? Does she know him? His face, the way he's talking --
Elle wants to touch him, make sure he's solid, real. But she shouldn't. No, she can't. He's a stranger. (Right?) She can't. Instead, she shrinks in on herself, shoulders hunching, hands held in front of her, fingers fidgeting with each other.
"I'm sorry, I don't know -- I don't... I don't know -- who..." Say it. Say it. "I don't know who you -- are. I..." She should also say, it's possible I do know you, but I've just forgotten, but she doesn't think she can do that. But the guilt is heavy in every line of her body.
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Elle wants to touch him, make sure he's solid, real. But she shouldn't. No, she can't. He's a stranger. (Right?) She can't. Instead, she shrinks in on herself, shoulders hunching, hands held in front of her, fingers fidgeting with each other.
"I'm sorry, I don't know -- I don't... I don't know -- who..." Say it. Say it. "I don't know who you -- are. I..." She should also say, it's possible I do know you, but I've just forgotten, but she doesn't think she can do that. But the guilt is heavy in every line of her body.