She is everything a woman ought to be. Sweet and kind, pure of mind and beautiful to see. Her countenance is never without a smile or a pout. Her eyes twinkling with intelligence and humour, make me forget the cares of the world. She is also sensitive.

I recall the days when I taught her the game of chess. She used to be a very talented and quick learner. Soon she was beating me in every game. I was tearing my hair in despair. I was angry with myself for having taught her the game. One day I decided it was enough. You see I had not taught her everything I knew. I still had a few tricks up my sleeve.

That day, as I perplexed her with some Byzantine moves, I was on the verge of victory as she fell into my traps, laid with the cunningness of a Roman general against the barbarians. The final stroke was pure genius. As I made my move, I saw a swift hand strike the board, quick as lightning. The chessmen scattered like a flock of geese on a gunshot. A swift blur of clothing was all I saw, as I put up my hands as defence against a rook, intent on piercing my eye. It was days before I saw her again. She hated losing.

That was the last time I played chess.