A buzz in the air. A distant vibration like an eighteen-wheeler traveling at speed on a gravel stretch, coming closer. Bearing down on him where he sat, wondering what was going on. The sound so distinct and overwhelming, he looked up and toward the door facing the road.

He tensed and gripped the edge of the table, imagining any minute now a wall would shatter with an ear-splitting explosion. Tables and screaming patrons would be sent flying as something large and terrible crashed into the room.

Orelia though, appeared unaware of any change in the atmosphere around them; her complete attention remained on the book. William couldn’t tell how long they’d even sat there, with her gaze cast downward, and he swiveling his head around trying to figure from where the noise came.

No marauding vehicle appeared, and as the seconds ticked by, William began to relax enough to return his concentration to Orelia.

This wasn’t weird. No not at all.

This was kooky with a double serve of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest crazy.

He was about to ask her, Can you hear that? when she looked up at him, staring. Not at his eyes. No, it was as if she peeled back his skin and the layers of his soul with that long, unwelcome look.

In that instant, the buzzing, of which he heard every tone even now, stopped. What followed was an eerie quiet, the intensity of the silence as overwhelming as the hum. Despite being surrounded by a bustling café, filled with people in conversation, along with cutlery carving food on plates, and glasses and cups being replaced on tables, the cone of silence had descended.

He wasn’t just rattled, he felt his heart kick up a notch, and the sound of his hesitant breathing enclosed him. She had somehow gained the upper hand, despite his maturity and experience. Whatever was happening, hard as he tried, he couldn’t find a reasonable explanation; except that maybe she’d put something in his coffee. Or he was having a nervous breakdown.

Their gazes finally met, he with eyebrows arched in surprise despite his attempts to conceal his thoughts, and she with a Mona Lisa smile, which gave him no clue to what swirled within her head. It dawned on him at that odd moment, that she might be playing the pretend game too. Somehow, he was in a poker playoff and he didn’t understand the stakes.

Then, just when he thought he was going to have to break the stare and allow her to win, she returned to her book. Yes, he’d won, he thought at the time, until she expelled a half-breath and smile in that way which conveys yes, that’s good. I have a great hand.

He had nothing. Not a clue, so when she began to speak, without looking at him, her words took him by surprise. Of course, he couldn’t see this future or understand that a war had begun; that he now sat across from an enemy. All he thought was their silly argument over a small difference of opinion was about to come to an end.