story

On a cool, crisp night the two of them were perched on a seat, in a recreation area, talking nonchalantly*
She - I'm passing on in this chilly, take a gander at my hands, they've become white. They're so numb, I can't feel a thing.
He - Okay, let me get them
*He catches her hands in his palms*
She - Your hands are warm, this feels significantly better. How could you figure out how to keep them warm when it is so cold.
He - Well I never removed them from my coat. I realized you would be cold so I kept my hands warm for you
She - Do you know what warm hands connote? They imply reliability.
He - I didn't have a clue about that. Presently you're making things up.
She - No, I'm not, it's not my shortcoming that you don't peruse many books.
He - All right.
*After a year as he sat on a similar seat, alone, thinking back the occasion, He recalled how right she was. Warm hands meant unwaveringness, and her hands were cold, so cold