I got back from work to find a book in a plastic bag on my bed.
Must be my roommate’s.
I opened the bag and found
Definitely NOT my roommate’s. She doesn’t even read.
I went down the hall to
Did you get me a book at the mall?
No, why?
Someone got me
It didn’t take me long to figure out who it was from. The only person it could be, the only one I had spoken to about Wuthering Heights, and literature in general, Ben, my co-worker and next door neighbor.
He is so unpredictable. He barely speaks to some of us, is currently seeing another girl after hours, has really dorky habits, always does favors for me, and apparently, buys me Wuthering Heights, arguably one of the most romantic and tragic books in English Literature, then denies he did it.
I still can’t believe it. But it makes me smile when I think about it. It’s always nice to be thought of when you aren’t there. And presents are always nice, especially from cute boys. I could get used to finding surprises on my bed.
