I recognized her as the girl I'd tried to save by the cut on her forehead above her left eye. It had been closed with several stitches and she was dressed in an all black abaya and hajib and was handcuffed in the front as I was.Our eyes met for the first time as she approached the table. She stood about four feet nine or so, very slender build (from my recollection of her nude form that fateful day) with large, brilliant blue eyes. She was weeping and the tears rolled down her cheeks as she silently walked to her seat. Even through her tears and our fleeting glance, I saw a glimmer of a smile of appreciation directed at me for my efforts. Her face was symmetrical with high cheekbones, a small mouth with pink lips and a small, straight nose. Even in painful distress she was absolutely lovely. From looking at her, I raised my estimation of her age to about eleven, maybe twelve.As soon as I saw her, my heart was overwhelmed with joy that she was alive but that feeling was soon replaced. Gracefully and with the ease of experience, she dropped to her knees beside him, casually leaning the side of her head against his knee. She, too could watch the film, but she had a hard time focussing her mind on it, especially, when after a while she felt his hand slowly, gently playing with her damp hair. The tingling, for how small the touch was, seemed to radiate all the way into her toes.Slowly, half subconsciously, she rubbed her nose and cheek against his thigh and except for a remaining, alert excitement, she was quite at peace, here, by his side, watching a movie with his hand in her hair.It occurred to her, as in a corner of her mind she currently wasn't occupying, that she could easy get up, cuddle herself into the couch, might even try to tease him enough until he'd give in and give her what she wanted. But just as clearly, she knew that she felt more at ease, felt more comfortable right here. It was about half an hour into the film, when his hand started to wander a.
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