Claire waded to the other side of the pool, hoping he would finally see her. She had spent most of her time outside trying to avoid James and now that she had succeeded in ignoring him, missed seeing his eyes. She missed the way he would ask her questions about her life, the books she read, the films she watched over and over and why the art work of Van Gogh made her cry. Yet, due to her recent bout of depression, she refused all contact with the rest of the world and especially James. No one understands this, she would think to herself. Even now as she swam to the other side of the lonely pool in a sort of natural therapy rather than the drug cocktail she used to take, she reiterated that thought in her mind. No one understands me. When she reached the other side, she wondered if perhaps, in knowing James as long as she did, that maybe he would understand her better than most if not all. She glanced up from the chlorinated blue water to find his deep emerald eyes staring at her while he sat at a table far enough away from the crowd that gathered opposite him. She watched him watch her with a startling detached interest and suddenly, her stomach began to flutter.