There was a moment where he handed me the polystyrene cup of tea across the table. I reached out to take it, vaguely wondering how pathetically filmi it would be if my hand brushed against his. I focused on the cup instead, in case I dropped it (something I was prone to do), but I did see one thing. His gaze paused on my hand for a moment, the one that gripped the cup. I held my breath.
I prayed to God that my knuckles weren’t too obviously hairy.