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it, but secondly, for it to be technically both easy-to-read and readable, there were only three probabilities: she wanted to reply but couldn’t, she could but didn’t want to, or she neither wanted to nor could.

It had been twenty-five whole minutes by now though. But, of course! How could he not have thought of this? Why on earth would it take Lola half the time to reply than it took him to write a whole SMS? If any-thing, the more she delayed the more it suggested that she wasn’t taking the whole thing light-heartedly at all. He imagined her frantically typing her phrases on her phone, getting annoyed at her inability to exhibit any originality and imagination, losing her head with her sense of humor that let her down every time she needed it the most, deleting her words again and again maniacally and finally adopting a more neutral formu-la to make sure that she didn’t give him any reason to misunderstand her or accuse her of being so arrogant-ly confident that she had him in the palm of her hand, reading it all over again, scared shitless of putting him off with a slip-up.

In the meantime, he checked his own message just in case, because a slip-up was all that he needed now, a tiny slip of the tongue for example that Lola, thanks to the psychoanalyst hiding inside of her, would not fail