They call it The Uncrossing.
He doesn’t push. He just says, “My ex-wife used to cross her legs every time I asked how she was feeling. I learned that it meant don’t come closer. ”
She doesn’t run. She doesn’t close up again.
“Maybe,” Samir agrees. “And maybe some people are just waiting for someone to sit down beside them anyway.”
“Like you’re about to leave.”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she uncrosses her legs for exactly three seconds—then recrosses them. That small window felt like undressing in public.
A small plaque reads: “For Christelle, who learned to stay.”