Glassy-Eyed! :/

“Are you happy with me?” He questions.

She has a clear answer to it, and it is always a prompt YES!

When the question turns round the table:

His answer, it gets her dazed of her own feelings

The way, how he says how much happy he is, she can feel it, just feel the exuberance and everything in his voice, and she turns round to herself, her voice always too low, too hesitant to accept that she is more than happy, if anything could exceed happiness in fact, she would opt for it. But, her reticence, her reluctance in saying it, accepting it with all that ecstasy in one’s voice, it gets her to doubt herself. Not that, happiness has not knocked on her door, not that she has no reciprocity to his feelings, she does, she really does. Then, why the uneasiness, the scruple in her voice. She has not yet known the exact, concrete reason behind it. But, as far as she happens to know herself, her soul, she knows that, this squeamish self, dwells in the reasoning. The one it has come to conclude, in the distant past, or at least has accepted it to be the truth. That if she becomes blithesome for the first half, she will have to live with tears in the other. Which she cannot afford to choose, so she denies the conviviality she is living in, mantling it within the recesses of her heart.