He told her a story about how you can calculate anything, you just need logic and a formula.
She told him a story about how she can’t follow convention, even if she tries.
He told her a story he said was mundane.
She saw the intrigue and the mystery in the details. Contradictions, like icing, she found so delicious she could not help licking them from his fingers.
(This, she did only in her imagination. Of course. But that is what imaginations are for, or so she told herself).
He spoke of spreadsheets and the importance of precision.
She nodded her head but did not tell him how her heart regularly jumps out of her body and into her mind. Or, how it holds her white matter to ransom with emotional blackmail.
He immerses his mind into his next project.
She absent mindedly winds her necklace around her fingers, and daydreams that one day, this next project might be her.