Defenestration

Sarah threw the book out of the window. A moment or two passed then shouting from the street outside. The intercom buzzed. Sarah hesitated. Another moment passed then it buzzed again, more insistently. She gathered herself together and picked up the receiver.

“Hello,” she said, politely.

“Did you just throw a book out the window?”

“Pardon?”

“Did you just throw a book out the window? A hardback book? From the third floor?”

Sarah was incapable of lying. “Yes. Yes, I did,” she admitted. “Sorry.”

Silence.

“Look, I am really sorry,” she said. “Maybe you would like to come up and I could explain?”
She pushed the button to unlock the outside door and wondered about the wisdom of letting a strange, possibly angry, man into her flat. There was a knock at the door. Too late now. Peering through the spyhole, she saw a bulbous face topped by a mop of curly hair. She opened the door.

“Why?” said the man. The rather attractive man, she noticed, despite the bruise developing on his temple and the large book he was brandishing.
“Um, why?” she repeated. “Well, I didn’t like the ending.” His eyes widened but before he could respond, she added quickly, “We should get some ice on that bruise.”

He opened his mouth to object but she grabbed his hand and led him into the kitchen. He soon had a bag of frozen peas clasped to his head, while Sarah explained exactly why she didn’t like the book’s ending. He accepted her explanation and then asked her out for a drink. The rest is history.