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He watched her make her way through her sleep. Her body rose and fell, skirt rustled a bit above her knees to expose a shy mole. She slept on her side, and by her side was a pillow. She rested her head on it, almost as if she longed for the warmth of someone, of someone's shallow heartbeat. Her mouth was slightly open, whispering tales in her sleep through moans and deep sighs. And when she, this beautiful story in front of him, finally stirred awake - something stirred within him too. He was yet to know it to be love.

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