Lina is thin, like a supermodel who would go any length to maintain her waistline, like someone malnourished who would get barely one meal a day. I often tease, running my fingers down her ribs, counting those little speed-breakers, you are the prettiest skeleton I know, to annoy her a bit. Sometimes, she laughs on my joke. Sometimes, she stabs me with her pointy elbow and make me run behind her around the house. She is tiny, just about 5’, and chasing her is like chasing a chicken. She is awfully quick, and can easily fit in any small space you can imagine. She slides underneath furniture, slips through small openings, jumps and climbs over stuffs as if gravity is a misconception. She can even hide in a curtain that you would cross a dozen times, without even knowing she is there. Catching her is like catching shadows, but when you finally do, she would silently wrap herself around you like a monkey, with heartbeat so loud it quakes your chest. She feels so light and delicate as if just a little pressure can crush her bones, but also so beautiful that any creature would want to pet and pamper her. And then she would stay glued on your body for hours, like a leech that cannot be removed unless she voluntarily decides. She would live on you, eat on you, and go everywhere you go. Even if you have to pee.