He called out to me one day, “Sweetheart.” 
Something stirred in my heart. Blood rushed to my face. The hair on my arms stood erect. I was supposed to feel happy, shy, delighted, ecstatic, or at least something within that spectrum. But i did not, all i felt was discomfort and a slight disgust. That word made me feel like a doll, a phase, an idea rather than a person. I didn’t like it. I looked up and saw his face, full of awkward anticipation. How could i have possibly told him how i felt. So i merely smiled, like a “sweetheart” would.

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