The Color of Love

She didn't want to worry, but found, like usual, she couldn't help it. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter anyway. This relationship was only supposed to be temporary, nothing more. She was black; he wasn't. It was an experiment they were both going to learn from and move on. That's how it was supposed to be. That's all it could be. This encounter would only prove their relationship was impossible. But then, somewhere, she'd forgotten the unspoken agreement. Somewhere, she'd started to believe there was nothing wrong with them being together-that there was the possibility they should be together. She'd listened, learned, liked, and finally loved, though she was still reluctant to admit the latter, even to herself. It was too risky. Nevertheless, her feelings were real. Now, they were walking into possibly the greatest threat to their relationship, the looming test of doom behind door number three-her family. She found herself hoping for the leap of faith that would allow them both to survive; that wouldn't allow something as superficial as the color of his skin to both deny and destroy them.