ObsessedWithShiny

He looked up from his chemistry notes to see her staring at him intently from across the table. She sat with her hands clasped around a cup of dandelion tea, eyebrows furrowed and lips frowning bright red over the white china rim. “Do you ever stop and think,” she said, slowly and purposefully, “that you could have been a binder?” He looked down at the binder in his hands. She’d been staring at his notes, not at him. “Sorry, what?” he said, slightly annoyed. “Just think. Your body is made of billions of atoms. What was the probability those exact atoms would come together to make you?”