Her red lips curled into a smile, waiting for me to answer. “Grey? I never really thought about that.” She chuckled to herself and returned the book to its shelf.
“You know,” she started, turning to face me. “When grey is all you have, you cherish it.” She walked past me, but I grabbed her arm.
“What exactly is meant by that? Is your world absent of color?” I realized how stupid I sounded. She bowed her head, letting the tear roll down the front of her sweater.
“What color is my hair?” she asked tearfully.
“It’s black, and your lips are red, and your eyes are hazel.” I choked. “What color are my eyes?” She shook head slowly, her cheeks grew pink, and her hand covered her ink covered nose.
“I don’t know.”
“What?”
“I don’t know!” With a cry, she ran out of the bookstore, leaving me with a heavy heart and a memory.