Alex did not know how much time had passed since he got to Isabella's apartment, but judging from how comfortable the couch had gotten and how many empty cups of juice were sitting on the table, it had been a while. There were at least four cups now, all with different colored straws sticking out, arranged like a small army lined up in front of the television.
The movie they had watched, some slow paced French romantic drama Isabella had picked out, had long ended. Alex had not understood half of it, to be honest. Something about a woman falling in love with a man who sold newspapers on a ferry, only for her to leave him for a painter who lived in a small flat above a bakery. There were long shots of the woman looking out at the sea, or standing in the rain, or walking through narrow streets with soft piano music in the background. The subtitles were there, but sometimes Alex forgot to read them, too busy glancing at Isabella to see if she was still watching.
