All I ask for is that you will not forget me.

 

How many people actually realise that the simplest will hold the most power? It is the quiet determination, end of the lip pulling taut, the antics of one that will rule them all.

 

The vertically challenged girl; fierce, outrageous. In the attempt of drawing a chair close and standing on top of it; assures the other of mediocre height that everything will be alright. My eyes follow.

 

Gently patted skirt, firmly stood upon wooden surface of the chair as the sleeved hand reaches for a stack of schooling books chockablock amongst other materials. How quaint, is the thought mused. Don’t you fall now, my unidentified and squat colleague. What remains entertaining is despite the possible dangers, she continues for the sake of another.

 

Hesitant safe girl voices a protest, addressing the little miss with a wrong name, apparently. Ah. The work of a complete stranger, then. Albeit nearly falling down in the process, in a brandishing manner is the pile of items presented. A mumble of thanks, the hurried getaway; the short girl that smiles to herself pleased. Returns the sitting object to its former position, patter down the hallway, oblivious of another who watched the episode unfold.

 

She disappears as easily as a flower on the wall. Have the walls eat her soul as her cloak floats pass.

 

She interests me.

 

Mischief makers never grow up. Sprout in eternal existence, no matter where you go.

 

Bizarre. How very unthinkable. Yet it is true.

 

At least I managed to get her materials, anyway. Despite being named wrong.

 

Albeit my incredible shortness and peculiarity, I blend well enough. That’s nice, on the most part. Anonymity is not necessarily a bad thing as long as you can still help others out.

 

Make a sharp turn around the corner. Close to forgetting that a meeting with the authority is to be upheld. Repositioning of directions.

 

I’m coming, dean. I hope I don’t get frowned upon for poor time keeping. Valid reasons stir in my hands.

 

The feet, scurry in a rising and falling manner. Pace towards the angle of the blue glass door to grab hold of the pull handle when another gets there first. His fingers curl around its slender steel.

 

He grins.

 

She blushes.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Partially mumbled, probably incoherent, but it’s certainly not the time to fight for such a silly case. The meeting’s a priority.

 

Yet his winsome expression with a jacketed style denoting the age of twenty-two is something that burns into the fallible memory.

 

She disappears so quickly, save for the hurried reply. The flash of determination juxtapose with a streak of innocence. Fingers stay where they are, criminal fingerprints on its surface. Stare down the corridor that she used.

 

It would seem that my initial guess is correct. The attractive with its raiment of strength yet without its pernicious thorns. At least, not yet. A hybrid.

 

She fascinates me.

 

Tell me that I can keep her. Please.

 

I think something extraordinary is about to happen.

 

My hands first beheld her back.

 

I wish it was not so, but yes it is, as lewd as it sounds. Humbly interject would I that it is but a chanced coincidence, but to further justify what I have done would be rather immature.

 

The silly girl; she should not go around messing about with things that do not concern her. Yet the same prescription can be applied to one like me too.

 

The curtains were hanging loosely. I did not like that at all.

 

Its billowy cloths were hinged inappropriately due to missed curtain hooks. Seeing no one nearby, the stool is taken to express extra and necessary height. The hands that reach up to correct the household mistake.

 

Overestimation leads to downfall. A fall hard and probably of considerable injury had it not been for another.

 

The pair of hands that hold me. The person who caught me from behind.

 

“Hey. What do you think you’re doing.”

 

Flat statement delivered with a particular type of charm. Look up. No verbal response.

 

Unmasked eyes flicker. Candid. I quite like looking into her eyes already.

 

We stare. Or at least I do, even as I attempt for a response to emanate for this current predicament in which I shamefully do not withdraw my contact from her. This proximity is not technically undesired by my ongoing curiousity.

 

An abrupt shift of mood and she blankly points at the cause of this whole situation. Mixed thoughts to either laugh at the absurdity or thank for the given opportunity. Perhaps both.

 

Yet it would seem to be none as my own height permits me the nearly effortless reach to alter the subtle discordance. That is, before gently releasing my hold that steadied her fall.

 

Thank you, she murmurs with a grin partially painted with quiet mischief before running off.

 

Several hallways and corridors past, the memory of the twenty-two year old’s unexpected tint beneath cheeks becomes the day’s happy memory.

 

That sly twenty-one year old. She will certainly ruin me.

 

And when you fall, it’s being caught that takes your breath away.

 

That girl is always being a little help, muses a passer-by. Eyebrows arch at that. Really? Yet if it is so, how is it that I have not given her enough notice?

 

With a heart kind enough to turn people from their waywardness, how is it that I have not seen her vividly before a time like this? By the expression of that notion a faint response already arose.

 

Perhaps this generation has become too captivated by the glistening and gleams by the perfect-cut diamonds of the world, that the simple beauty of a flower lain has been overlooked. Eyes follow the petite individual, one that remains in the line of sight as of late. She runs after the boy who dropped his cap without realising, returning it. The gift of thanks. The smile. Could it be a subconscious desire to chase after, or that she has been there?

 

Has she, then, been a constant stranger I’ve been completely unaware of? Then maybe some strangers never quite leave you, and why – I will be sufficient in intrepidity to mention that she should never go. Don’t leave. Don’t go just when I’m about to find my feet to find you.

 

Yet the mass of people cloak her small self naturally; effortlessly, so witness is all I do, standing here spellbound like a doltish student with this disappearance. I must be a sinner, given to the extravagances of this world to have ever missed her. A fool. Falling, falling, falling.

 

Won’t you find a modicum of kindness in your great loving heart to forgive me.

 

There is always room for everything.

 

Everything including the good and the bad, virtues and their vices.

 

Every day another chance to do someone a good turn, save the falling item, intervene in the dismaying cause. Maybe even room for adjustments that are miniscule and considerably insignificant. See him standing there, leave me wondering what to do.

 

It is but a coincidence, I know. But the act of helping the lecturer to buy some materials for next week’s tutorial leads me here, confounded. Here in this giant mall, requiring the assistance of the escalator for ascension.

 

They should invest in normal immobile staircases for the public use, instead of reserving it for emergency exits. I would easily use it in this dilemma.

 

It’s peculiar. Is it avoidance, or fear, or something unimaginable?

 

He is styled in the jacket again, small laughs in his group of friends who are equally if not as suave as he is. Mister Cap, with an imperceptible rouge grin framing his features. Mister Serious with eyes narrow, yet the twinkle of blight cannot be denied. Mister Height, because that vertical advantage simply is. Somehow I cannot refer to him as Mister Jacket or anything, nonetheless. Special, unfortunately. Fortunately. I’m not even sure.

 

Calling them misters is rather childish for a twenty-one year old, but the harmless labelling continues.

 

Fiddle with the hemline of the jacket. Won’t they just decide to use the escalator or not already. Being tardy isn’t quite my cup of tea, and it shouldn’t be for anyone else, even.

 

Their feet meet with the escalator, and the ascension begins. Sigh in relief. Discreetly follow after them, leaving a gap of six steps or so.

 

“Hello there.”

 

Maybe not so discreet after all. He greets from above with a grin bright, the other three paying their attention to me in general surprise. It’s a bit too much to handle without warning.

 

How about someone defenestrate me right now.

 

She mumbles a quaint hello before looking at her feet, her eyes initially wide with astonishment. My smile persists. It’s not like I wish to tease, or to continue the distinct uncomfortableness, but there is something endearing in her that makes it all the more wanting. I have already seen her dithering from before. There’s no point hiding.

 

Oh, my petite colleague. I don’t even know your name, and this is what you are doing to me.

 

Escalator rides will never last long, I remind myself. How horrible can the next few moments go, no matter how embarrassing I am?

 

Tuck hands around the ever useful hemline. It does not help that they seem so sociable and likable. Paying their attention to an anonymous to me feels like a misgiven privilege somehow.

 

I hear distinct footfalls, and it halts.

 

We’ve never actually quite gotten a chance at a casual conversation, now have we, is what the twenty-two year old murmurs. His head angles toward me, body involuntarily bending to make do with my challenged height.

 

I’m not sure what to do with this sudden and unexpected development.

 

She’s quiet. Is she evaluating me already? Her eyes flicker in the direction of my friends who I have temporarily left behind, and they return to me. Vague in definition.

 

“Don’t you worry about them,” I reassure. “And don’t you worry too much about me being here, too. I’ll be gone before you know it, but before I do that, I’d like to have a chance to know a little more about you.”

 

Paint that inescapable grin as an extra topping on that cheeky remark and groan inwardly later at my forwardness, yes. Ah. The things she doesn’t know.

 

Gulp. Stare, for a while. Mumble incoherently, before mustering enough courage to speak up.

 

Escalator rides, they don’t last long. Neither does this one.

 

When I heard the footsteps coming from above, I already knew they were his, but yet I didn’t dare to look. Imagine hearing that purposed voice, the look he gives that makes you feel so incredibly exceptional.

 

I don’t know what this is. But what I do know is that I will not fall I will not fall I will not fall

 

I do. I would.

 

Because in the midst of my shyness and fierce redness of expression, it confirms that he sees me just as much as I see him.

 

And I cannot help but to find that nice, to find it lovely that he actually notices me.

 

I’m so, so happy.

 

The seconds that are, and the seconds that will never be, are what makes us – us.

 

She becomes the girl to which I will never let a hello pass, no matter how inconsequential or fleeting. In the corridors, in the walkways, across the hall; even when sounds are bound to drown my echo I will let it float in hopes that it reach you anyway. My weeks and months, see how they curl in ways unintended.

 

I am maddening conscious of his strengthening presence. They say we hear for what we listen for, and perhaps it can be said so in my case – that I am looking for him, that to know he is already fixed on me while I’m searching is a feeling overwhelming. It is conceit, it’s entirely absurd, but in the quest for being candour in character it will not do to deny. 

 

Eyes flicker sideways in a purposed attempt to play innocent, pretend that the footsteps are not pointed toward me.

 

Say, is it time enough that we’ve earned ourselves a moment with coffee, he muses with a twitching smile. I stare.

 

Does it disconcert his frame of mind when I do these things? Ah. It would be unkind to express it bluntly, technically.

 

“When.”

 

And that is certainly all he needs for an answer.

 

Time allocates itself, ready set go, you know. Nervous wreck sailing on a sea uncharted, to waves which seem incredibly menacing when one is no wave jumper or a surfer. Walk into a decent coffeehouse with soft lightings, its brown furniture emanating a homely type of atmosphere. Not one too trying or awkwardly suggestive, but just nice, the sort of moment you can lose yourself in with reverie.

 

Hey man, looks like you’ve managed to bring her over after all! Chuckles some striped shirt male by a table of a few more friends, inclusive of both genders.

 

Let out an inaudible expression of confusion. Bewilderment.

 

A change that nearly slips away unnoticed, but don’t be deceived. I have become accustomed to chasing shadows.

 

“First time out together alone would likely lead to nervous breakdowns,” are the words I express with a gentle tease. “I might be just too much, hmm?”

 

Even if it isn’t for her. I’m doing this for yours truly – me. The selfish and egoistical, this is how much I stretch to reach you.

 

Search her face. Time for consequences.

 

A raw sharp glare, a tinge of resentment. The frown that mars the forehead, but it breaks away. An underlying humour is detectable – and I am unfortunately partial to it.

 

“Have yourself know that you are not immune to faults,” I mumble unintelligibly. Make my way to his group of friends. Opt for the side with the girls. They seem to be a more able crowd to hold conversations with.

 

Let the coffee talks begin.

 

Earn myself that rather cold treatment. I must say that the heart is inescapable from apparent psychological and emotional effects – strange when we consider that its biological function is quite separate from what we are accustomed to.

 

My humblest apologies, I very nearly express with sober defeat, but she moves on so quickly, so daintily. She may be a flower, but certainly a resilient one. Her figure whisks understandably to her peers, and I remain at the same table nevertheless, with my own male companions. The exchange of conversations vary, group-wise, individual-wise; but I consider that for a first time, this isn’t bad at all.

 

Even as I watch her, this petite twenty-one year old, the conclusion permeates this space and time.

 

Many people try to pinpoint a moment where they realised that they have fallen in love with someone. Maybe it’s the moment they sing words of praise, maybe it’s the way they laugh and the way their eyes glimmer with ardent adoration. But no, that cannot be. I don’t think we can ever point out a reason why we are in that state toward someone, in this prominent attraction.

 

I believe it’s just as simple as this. It will happen one day, one normal day whilst you are looking at him or her, and realise that you can’t let them go just as they are, just as you are. And that revelation will never leave you the same person again.

 

Though not copious in nature, more of these outings transpire.

 

Sometimes it is even with a different bunch of friends, which strikes me as unsettling since it is certain that he remains in good relations with them all. How does one even hold of these relations properly?

 

I don’t think I can quite ever.

 

A gelid evening, when the Sun is about to excuse itself and the lengthening shadows, me and he are the last ones behind the rest of his group. He taps me on the shoulder, so lightly yet turn I do, and whispers let’s go.

 

“Where are we going?” I mouth, but his arm guides my shoulder toward a diverging direction as he enunciates a low, anywhere. And while this is certainly a new development, I follow with partially coloured cheeks. Eyes glance in the general direction of the group that disappear around the corner. His laugh greets me.

 

Come on, he says, removing the arm. There’s a whole world out there to see.

 

Our paths, unguided, yet sights are plenty. Pass the central park filled with people, the brick streets slowly lighting up as crepuscule fall softly on our shoulders. Once in a while, we enter shops whenever they prove terribly uncanny.

 

We break the silence of the antique shop, cobwebs and dust our close companions. Is this shop even open for customers? What a state

 

A hideous mask pops up in front of me. I know that the face turns incredibly pale even as the voice becomes useless, since he whisks the mask away swiftly. Concern in his eyes. His hand reaches out but I’m already on the ground.

 

“Don’t you ever do that again.”

 

Ah. Looks like that was a major blunder. Dear me. Dear all who fall and stumble.

 

She crouches, seemingly defensive; wordless afterwards. Even with apologies made, the gaze doesn’t even shift its focus from the floor.

 

It hurts.

 

The teeth continue to grit. Perhaps an overreaction, a point of unattractiveness but I can’t just.

 

His fingers appear before the piece of ground that my eyes are staring determinedly at, suggesting a change of direction. Eyes glance sideways, discover a silver cube spinning on its end expertly. It must have fallen from the higher shelves, he murmurs. Head tilt upwards. I don’t see how the cube belongs to the rest of the round and spherical objects contained there.

 

A smile carves into his countenance, even as the cube continues its peculiar dance, apparently sempiternal like the way a wheel continues spinning.

 

Here we go, he muses mostly for himself. Plucks the cube up, hold it upside down and open its contraption. A neat, spinning wheel shifts onto his hand, unperturbed. A gyroscope made it possible for the edgy cube to turn in such a manner. How charming.

 

And this is how the earth continues to spin even when things blow out of proportion, he declares with a sly grin, pleased even. Gyroscope returns to its cube, placing it on a spot where it kicks up the dust even as we leave this place.

 

Dusk greets us, bringing a wind of mischief. Streets, somehow they are occupied with a considerable amount of people. We walk for a little more, and stop we do. The ivory clock tower that stands before us chimes 6 o’clock.

 

A kid decides to mess with a flock of birds which were pecking for breadcrumbs in the city square, their upset flight rushing past us like a bullet train. Like a gust that envelops.

 

I turn to him, wanting to exclaim at the weirdness of it all. Yet my heart then skips a beat with an instinctive realisation that it was never the birds he was looking at, but me.

 

He says something but I couldn’t catch it.

 

Hey. Stay with me. Won’t you?

 

Over the distance, I recognise some of his friends walking about in this area as well. What were you saying, I nearly ask but I keep quiet. But I think my face gives me away.

 

A violent gulp. Please tell me that I didn’t think my thoughts aloud. Surely I didn’t say them after shamelessly looking at her without reason.

 

Corner of the eye notices the friends. Ah.

 

“Let’s see if we can catch up to them,” I challenge with a bold smirk, signalling to the appropriate route. My body tilts accordingly.

 

A friend in need is a friend indeed.

 

I comply – but I can’t help but to feel that I missed something momentous.

 

We catch up, with his friends sharing a laugh. Had a good time together, now didn’t you, remarks one of them with a casual slop for a grin. Quiet I remain but he shrugs it off good-naturedly.

 

“Isn’t it a great coincidence that we bumped into them?” I wonder as the whole bunch of us embark on our journey back, coherent enough for him to hear. His eyes, they throw a sideway glance with a surreptitious smile. Perhaps, is the disyllable he mouths, but it’s with sudden clarity that this scenario had been elaborately planned beforehand.

 

I know. I know that I could possibly think of a great many things but an uncomfortable feeling turns in the stomach, somehow believing that it is a ruse, a type of artifice to lull me into a false sense of security before danger strikes.

 

Bad friends are extremely common company.

 

To scare her away is never my wish. Draw closer to me, like a fisherman and his net.

 

I won’t deny you being a catch, but I will not have you as a prize. I want you to win, and so if you are willing, please do.

 

This game has already been rigged from the start.

 

It takes my entire ability not to touch you when you’re not looking in my direction. When you turn, I drop my hesitant hand, knowing that at the stage we’re in – to hold you is certainly strange. Yes? You question with that seemingly oblivious gaze. I whisper incoherently that it’s nothing, even as the fidgety fingers say otherwise.

 

How do we go on from here?

 

The unnatural twitch of the fingers. The hand that’s a little bit too close.

 

To sense something shifting in the air. I wonder what my favourite companion is thinking in the crevices of his mind. He says that it’s nothing, it’s insignificant, but even so, I have every desire to know.

 

I’m afraid. I’m afraid of this closeness that is bound to tear souls apart. My fear – I hope it’s not found wanting.

 

We very readily believe that we exist in a vacuum, and that in a company of two, nothing else can exist for a little while when it’s never the case.

 

Come closer – and don’t be surprised if you burn like a bug to a spark of fire.

 

Some people reason that they have faith in a God because they cannot trust their own doings, that the heart is deplorably wicked. They deceive themselves in moments where crises are met – and so alas! There goes the opinion of others and oneself.

 

I’m not here to argue about faith in a higher being or anything else, but I’ll relate about knowing oneself and the desires within. Going out for a couple times now in a bunch aside from that escapade assures me that I can handle this. And yet – ah.

 

Am I to be scorned at for having my nerves in a bundle? Answer myself I will with indignation that to be nervous is no vice, but in fact, a possible motivation and reminder.

 

Come up from behind unnoticed, knock the top of her head with a bundle. She looks up with a flash of temporal annoyance when it melts, the furious blush of red covering her countenance instead as glances meet the wrapped package.

 

“Um.”

 

Childish, foolish, but I cannot even begin to unravel the thoughts knit

 

“Go out with me, won’t you,” I almost mumble, resisting the urge to hide my exposed face. She looks at the one who once plastered cheeky grins at ease yet now transformed to one so docile.

 

What’s the occasion, she bluntly asks in reply, albeit with a subtle shade of shy. Expression of one’s impatience. Frown. “The day I’ve decided to man up and ask you out directly or something,” I muse snappily. To be questioned in my struggle feels terribly unfair.

 

“And the gift is for you, whether you say yes or no.”

 

A single thoughtful blink as she says, keep the gift. Gulp as the sinking feeling hits – to be rejected feels devastatingly horrible.

 

The hand that rests on top of mine.

 

This, by far, the most daring move in my chaste life.

 

So where are we going? She asks gently with the ends of curled, the hand that grips mine.

 

Arrested by the gaze of her astute eyes.

 

I surrender.

 

He brings us along the pier as eventide pays its timely visit, the salty taste fresh in the air. Some stalls put up for attraction, colourful and whimsical. Variant products, the eyes flicker from station to station, unable to decide on permanence.

 

The wind today is no mischievous thing. Even if a short dress is the raiment befit it would have not conjured discomfort. Walk down with him the grey street bricked, a pleasant dull in comparison to the varicoloured atmosphere.

 

With hands in the pockets he risks a side glance and grins. Race you to the nearest stall, he says. Feet scramble before the complete registration of the challenge posed.

 

Surprisingly, we reach about the same time. Good game, he mouths with eyes that crinkle. Now, we walk. That momentary burst of energy has brought colour to cold cheeks. Delightful.

 

Wait, she says with a mild, miniscule protest even as I speed up. She must question my capriciousness, at how one moment I remain by her side and the next to go on so far without her.

 

Am I unreliable? Pray, it’s a difficult question to answer with candour but I very hope that I am not. Reasons for my actions I do have on a usual basis, but I dearly ask that by all forces known in the universe, that I will not make it an excuse for future negligence.

 

It takes so much to be with you, and I’m almost afraid of how willing I actually am to try.

 

In evening’s veil it’s certainly not odd to lose a person who is ahead of you, let alone one who walks in a manner to seemingly get away. Should I be feeling hurt? Yet I sense in my soul that to be hurt now is unnecessary and silly.

 

So continue onward I do, see the occasional glimpse of his jacket and imagined grin. To chase is no foreign pastime.

 

Then the undoing of one’s vision.

 

Hey! She yells. Smile at her. I am aware that she cannot perceive my being but I have a learned and cruel affection for teasing her.

 

Press the beige object called a sun hat on her head more firmly.

 

“You look good in it.”

 

Stare at him, stunned. All that running for this? Glance hastily at a piece that reflects my image and see that it is rather becoming.

 

Sir, how much for the hat? He asks and the money is paid before the objection completes my lips. His eyes narrow as he murmurs, trust me, you shouldn’t leave anything that fits you so well behind.

 

He grins, almost bashful at the notion of what he has done, as he continues to walk again to deter any immediate retort of mine. Subconsciously adjust the hat before chasing after him for the nth time. Perhaps he is but a mere boy, enthralled with the idea of being pursued.

 

It’s not possible, and I do picture her dainty yet firm, so to believe that it is her footsteps that are following me is absolutely outrageous. I slow my steps, act like it is unintentional, and she is but two steps away from me.

 

“Shall we continue our amiable stroll?” I ask, and bite my tongue from saying anything that will come across as exceedingly impudent.

 

I think I see a scowl, but even a scowl can’t mar this moment.

 

The stalls eventually draw to a close – no, more like a familiar route once more. Somehow, we have walked in such a manner that we’ve gotten back to our initial point of adventure regarding the pier. It must be a circle or a square, don’t question me about geometry and geography that’s assimilated into one.

 

“I think we’re done for the day,” is what I accidentally express. He turns, and nods in frank agreement. Before my heart has a way to imitate the feeling of sinking, the gift is dealt into my hands. The one from before.

 

Thank you, she says.

 

It’s been a great day with you, he mentions with a low, heart-warming chuckle.

 

She nearly looks nettled, say are you sure you are alright with paying for the sun hat? The money that you have spent for today already.

 

Don’t question a man’s decision, said with mock horror. Besides, there is but one more gift today before we go.

 

“Eh?”

 

Take a deep breath, blink with intentional tardiness. Beckon her to come a little closer.

 

Hold the gift in my hands carefully and take a few steps nearer. The sun hat drops slightly.

 

Can you keep a secret? He asks softly.

 

She nods. Breathe.

 

His hand on the sun hat and he draws close. Halts. This is where both he and I stay, where we meet before he pulls away with the aforementioned hand tangled loosely with my hair.

 

And that’s, the third, he concludes flatly before the hand covers his face. Time to go. Turn around.

 

Thank goodness for the sun hat. I don’t think I can go about exposed after what he did. Because if I’m not mistaken, he

 

Kissed the top of your head, short miss. It’s a crime to be so fine.

 

Can you keep it? Can you keep what’s both yours and not yours?

 

So what do I say? Thank you or how dare you?

 

I ponder, but I will say nothing.

 

I am fine I am fine I am fine

 

Liar.

 

Perhaps it was a bit too much, dabbled with a of paltry timing. Ever since that day, I cannot seem to reach you. You, the one that I may very well have given my all to simply be beside you. Indefinitely.

 

It is dangerous to speak in such a mien; inimical – for indefinites have unfixed and changing meanings. Yet a fool I faithfully remain, the dolt, the terrible.

 

Go out with me again, my mind threatens to scream. Do you not know that you linger a whole lot longer than you should? The thoughts, they must flood my face massively even when I look at her, when she catches my eye before fading away. Call her name, have those words shed themselves of any responsibility even as crowds and deaf ears come to play.

 

He whispers go out with me again. When’s our next meet. Want to grab a coffee? Let me walk you to class. All those words, the persistency, the failure to get a yes from me.

 

He takes me by the shoulder lightly mixed with an imperceptible possessiveness, ask me out for a simple nature walk. No, he nearly begs. Eyes flicker and denote a no, watch the very moment he speaks with lucid anguish.

 

“What am I doing wrong?”

 

In that twisted wrung look, he seems to challenge me, say that you feel nothing for me. To be upfront with something synonymous to a possible accusation, I can hardly stand my ground.

 

Lips quiver. “It’s not about you.”

 

And there she goes again. Fall away, see the bloom of the flower wither. Wither not in attraction, but in proximity and other aspects. You do not deny our togetherness being one borne in pleasure, yet you imply that by marking a distance you will cover the gap.

 

Go ahead and run. Have you yet to realise that all paths will end up leading to where you’re escaping from?

 

He is but a mere boy. I have not the time for his advances while everything else is unsteadily balanced and ready to fall apart at a wind’s notice.

 

Look at the hands that have grown hard and worn. See the reflection of a girl with the ghost of a smile.

 

The more things come together, the more broken pieces there are to pick up.

 

We live in glass coffins – this is where we pretend that we are interacting with others like ourselves when we are actually left asphyxiating in our own wrongdoings.

 

I still see her around, even if we hardly speak at the moment. I think something must have changed – she appears fatigued, strained and close to crying. I wonder if I should try and say hello, see if this time it’s alright to meet?

 

The answer to the question is already made as I reach her.

 

He catches me off-guard. What’s wrong, he asks. Avoidance is an attempt made but I can tell that this time, he wouldn’t just take a negative response meekly.

 

“Stop. Running.”

 

Look up into his dark eyes. Eyes that I have skipped for weeks now. Notice the rigid jaw that maligns his carefree disposition. Tell me, he mutters. What has been messing with you? With piercing eyes that droop calculatedly it’s evident that he expects me to explain. That I will.

 

And I do – not because I want to, but I have to. I sense a lurking ultimatum underneath that cool confidence of his.

 

So the story unfolds.

 

We make our way to one of the emptier hallways, gradually finding comfort on the garden bench. She speaks of many things that have been outlined as crucial in her life.

 

The ill relative, being the teacher’s pet. Helping out in the nearby charity every day for an hour or two if possible. Taking care of a stray animal, being a friend’s shoulder to cry on. Struggling with some lessons due to lack of time to oneself. The broken window down the hallway, the forgotten and unappreciated cleaner. Then, me.

 

And one could sense the tiredness that eats at her soul.

 

He is quiet. There is no interruption as I spoke. Yet I have come to a halt. How shall he respond at the revelations I have given?

 

A long gaze is what he gives me, solemn and obscure. Lean in closer without asking for permission. Assuming his closeness to be permissible by default. The sentence that escapes his windpipe.

 

You are only human.

 

The stinging aftereffect of her slap on my cheek. Burning sensation. She glares.

 

Wave of humiliation. How dare he water down my struggles? Didn’t he ask to know, and now that I’ve given it to him he shreds them. I asked not for a solution, and he provides it without tact.

 

Then the unexpected. He laughs.

 

“Now aren’t you all strung up?”

 

Is he trying to dig his own grave?

 

“I know. You think me a fool,” I echo aloud with a streak of genuine wonder. “But trust me on this one thing – it makes me really happy to have you looking at me properly again, even if you’re not feeling particularly cordial.”

 

Something must be changing for me to be so bold and rash and frank. But the smile persists even as I finally excuse my presence from her.

 

Today, I am the first to leave the scene.

 

It’s like my body had been set ablaze from such chagrin. Then shivers that run up the spine.

 

Because his attention, on me, with that smile that depicts absolute ebullience. If I am not being deceived, he is partially amused by it all. A marked passion.

 

It makes me really happy to have you looking at me properly again, is what he says. And I am uneasy in believing it, especially to find that I agree despite weeks of avoiding him on purpose. In our inevitable closeness, I sense danger, danger, danger.

 

Gravitational collapse.

 

The dust begins to settle over the next few days since that brazen incident. She holds my gaze a little longer and has the capacity to allow hellos to enunciate themselves. Slightly courteous, yet still unattainable. See her with a load of items, offer to carry them. An astonishing yes.

 

So we’re back to good terms now? He asks with that salient curiousity. Blink, look at him before it flutters elsewhere – indicate where we are going.

 

How elusive. Quiet as we continue. But I would bet that we are both bursting with wonder and racking our brains for every intention to know the other. Observation is no longer sufficient. Arrive at the teacher’s quarters, I wonder if you are even going to try saying anything?

 

Satisfaction emanates when she finally calls me by name, a distinct hum in the midst of surrounding noises. Turn to her with perfect attention.

 

Look at me.

 

She doesn’t say anything, yet the gaze continues. Serious, focused. So it’s not like I can laugh it off as though she is spacing out or anything. She isn’t.

 

Don’t turn away.

 

Casually shift the position of the held items while waiting for her response.

 

Remain.

 

Lean in a little closer. “Yes?” I mumble with a touch of feeble hesitancy.

 

My voice box, frozen.

 

Ah. So she has gone mute on me. Decide to enter the teacher’s quarters to place the items when I sense a remarkable change in her being. Return the attention to her once more and discover a whole new of emotions that dance in the eyes, a front that is there no longer. I see everything that is wanting. I see her and me.

 

Desire.

 

“Shall we… grab a movie this Friday evening?” I propose, smiling even before she accepts it. Pat the top of her head with unreserved affection even as some of the items fall. As if it is a bother. I’ll just pick them up again and head into the quarters quite a different person.

 

I’m looking forward to it.

 

Things, set to change. In a motion unstoppable.

 

Let gravity weave everything together.

 

We are to meet outside the cinema since she has to finish up on some last things. Something about cleaning her locker and rearranging her materials? I shrug, considering it to be rather inconsequential but I will learn to respect what she deems crucial – I don’t intend to earn another slap so soon, even if it is one dealt with zeal.

 

Glance at the watch that indicates fifteen minutes to show time, engage in overly conscious activities like the tapping of one’s foot. The pronunciation of her apology, look up and see her in a chiffon casual dress with neat strap sandals. I’d wear the sun hat, but it’s silly going to the cinema in one, she promptly adds. And she laughs a laugh brilliant, I’d vow that it coloured the atmosphere with everything lovely.

 

Here’s to having my head in the clouds again. Knowingly. Unknowingly.

 

We enter the cinema, already darkened and displaying the advertisements. Find the seats, set the popcorn and drinks in their receptacles. He makes sure that I’m comfortable before turning away, pleased.

 

There is a considerable amount of space between us, but by the time the movie ends – which is pretty good, by the way – fingers have slipped, embarrassing mistakes for drinks and shoulders that lean in. This warm feeling that makes one feel so invincible.

 

People are leaving. We don’t. Watch the last of the majority go aside from the last few who stay as well. Sneak a glance at him; he looks content and relaxed, unaware. Him in the usual jacketed style. Pretend that it is but the trick of the mind that yours truly is nestling closer to the arm. We both note the hint of difference.

 

Darkness has a way of making one brave, if it doesn’t cripple you with fear initially.

 

Maybe she thinks I don’t know, that I am oblivious. Yet I am wholly aware of this closeness that has been permitted, and the increased proximity. This sensation sends my skin tingling. Take a deep breath and angle one’s gaze in her general direction. Whisper.

 

“Feeling cold?”

 

Opportune question. To tackle it, however. Attempt to make oneself comfortable on the arm, deep in thoughts. Let actions answer. And then.

 

My face turns hot at how affectionate I find this to be. It’s simple, endearing, and I am afraid that I may do terrible things. This petite girl in the chiffon casual dress, the strap sandals that fit her feet. A forced gulp. And then she looks up at me, mumbling something that sounds like my name. I cannot tell, I can hardly adjust to the abrupt change of the moment.

 

Please tell me that you can’t see my flustered face.

 

Can you keep a secret? Are the words she echo.

 

His eyes glimmer with recognition at the sentence given. Despite the dark lighting, I can tell that his face is coloured. This power, I’m afraid it may very well be addictive. Even so, with the vague worries existing, he nods. Take a deliberate look at his handsomeness, the face rich in emotion and continuity. Risk the suspire.

 

“I think, I might be in love with you.”

 

Patience unfurl and even before I completely take in your florid red expression, you are in my arms already. Laugh, exclaim. Forget where we are.

 

“I already am, for you.”

 

Pull away for ten seconds to revel in this moment in time. Her hair, her eyes that are seemingly glassy, the quivering lips, they part in a shyness lovable. My maddeningly palpitating heart that gives me both pain and incredible joy. 

 

The dark cinema, yet one can see all that they want even in pitch black darkness, if that is the true desire hidden in one’s heart. Take her into my embrace once more.

 

“Stay,” I say. Through a whisper, with you in my arms. And I know by unerring instinct that you have given in. Laugh in a strange voice because this gladness has become truly unexplainable.

 

This is all we need to be.

 

Just one moment will mark the simultaneous entrance of everything and nothing.

 

A simple dinner in the restaurant after we exit the place. While the pasta should be having my attention it admittedly drifts elsewhere. To my companion, the person seated across me.

 

Though I dare say he is having some troubles himself since his fork has missed piercing the green peas often enough. Permit a small simper. When asked why, tell him that he looks indisputably charming. He drops the steel fork in favour of a reddened face.

 

Bingo.

 

Pay for the meal. Earn the privilege of walking her home. Despite what had happened in the cinema, her hand is not held in mine. It’s no longer a question of if, but rather, I’m unsure if I can let go when I am supposed to.

 

You, the girl in the chiffon casual dress. I may very well have an insurmountable impulse to hold you close interminably. Strangle you instead of releasing you if I’m not careful. I am the thorn in your flesh, for I am jealous and I would rather choke you, my flower, with weeds than have you enjoy the sunlight if that will bring others to love your magnificence.

 

We reach the guardhouse that is posted at the entrance of her apartment. It’s not too far from the institution, which is probably why it was chosen. The security is quite tight here, the guard unwilling to budge unless evidence is produced. She pulls out her card to prove that she is a resident.

 

A short tug on the sleeve, and having caught my attention he asks, will I see you again on Monday? Queer question. Smile.

 

“You, my friend, will certainly see me again.”

 

I think I’m supposed to be thrilled with that answer but somehow I don’t react that way. Yet to ask for an explanation would be doltish. It’s time for goodbye even as she turns away. I wish to hug her but I don’t, so I stare at her back and the card that is held by her hand as an indication for the farewell. The figure that becomes a dot and then hidden.

 

Watch me closely.

 

I shouldn’t have let her go.

 

Closer.

 

Every high will meet their low.

 

Monday arrives. I don’t see her. Perhaps any ordinary person would have assumed that she is just absent, or somehow I’ve missed her, but I know better. Personal cellphone depicts my five missed calls and several text messages throughout the day. Nothing gets through. Cellphone is said to be unavailable.

 

It does not help that others have flocked to me to ask about her as well. Good grief. Did everyone decide to look for her today or something? To know that she has such importance to others brings me to a state of discontent.

 

No matter. When classes have ended I shall dedicate every bit of energy and resource available to find her. After your declaration of maybe in regard of your affection for me, I will not let you get away so easily.

 

Get to the locker to take leave the books and get the coat when I spot something foreign. A card. It isn’t mine.

 

It strikingly resembles hers. Perfect copy.

 

My blood runs cold.

 

It screams stalker. I know. To be here with the card, have the guard wave me through the premises after its appearance. Yet she must want me to find her, because she has kindly taped the unit number behind the aforementioned object. Locate the unit and access it, enter cautiously.

 

The sound of a showerhead functioning causes me to disregard everything else utterly. I run in the direction of this sound and find the bathroom, fling the unlocked door wide open. There is no longer any room for politeness and decency, the universal gesture of a knock.

 

The feet are drenched upon entry. My eyes, they lift and see a bathtub overflowing with water, filled by the showerhead raining down on it. The girl in the chiffon casual dress is the occupant. Move closer. Realise that there are no signs of movement. Jerk her head upward with the use of my hand. Multiple elements convey themselves. The cold skin, the lifeless expression on her face, the lack of reaction. The makings of a corpse.

 

This could be the time to go in for a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, or some brave heroic act, but the fingers are the only ones that move. Nimbly touch the valve handle and cut the running water. Time stand still even as I look at her soaked being.

 

How sad have you been? There’s no denying that you’ve taken your own life, but to do it this way is devastating. Some shoot, some jump, some hang. You’ve chosen to drown, not by the ocean but in a bathtub. It’s human instinct to preserve their own lives and so how sad were you? To keep forcing yourself underwater until your instinct gives way.

 

“And how, incredibly selfish,” is the angry half-yell. How dare you, how dare you become so massive in my life only to pluck yourself out of it? How were you not thinking of everyone else who love you, who care you, who will cry over you? My hands, they have every urge to be placed on her shoulders to wake her up, to rid her of this inanimate state. I want to keep you, I want you I want you I want you but this is where you’ve gone, this is what you’ve done.

 

Get up to walk away because with the emotions building I will certainly wreck her, dead or not. A whole new revelation awaits me when I leave the bathroom, this time my eyes open to the things once unseen.

 

I’ve always pictured her to be a tidy girl, so to have some photographs and papers lying about haphazardly strikes me as strange. Pick up the nearest one and flinch instantaneously.

 

They are written notes. Data collected based on people watching, and of people that have coincided with her. The notes appear to be torn from the same type of notebook so I hunt for it. But there has never been a need to do so, because while the arrangement of this chaos seems random, it leads to the item I now seek. Crafty girl, my flower is one with wit and style honed to perfection.

 

Leafing through the notebook, more entries like the ones on the floor are found. The later pages have fragments of me in them. The words I’ve said, the store where I’ve bought my jacket. I would have felt something if this isn’t done for others. I stop in my tracks when I see the following entry.

 

If taking one’s own life is selfish, isn’t it also selfish for others to make them live by their selfish reasoning? For them, they think life is good.

 

It’s a book of expectations versus reality. Of thoughts and possible moments, a girl trying to live by the measurement of others. This isn’t right. But it makes absolute sense that when I called her a mere human, she slaps me.

 

It’s an obsession. A craze. An unhealthy infatuation to please. She gives so much of herself away that she becomes empty itself.

 

The next entry, she penned a short summary regarding last Friday with me. She enjoyed it, apparently. Enjoyed it enough to wear the chiffon casual dress as her death gown to remember it. A chill runs up my spine when I realise she has written my name, left a question for me to answer for myself.

 

Maybe we tend to forget that in calling others selfish and other hideous names, we fail to remember that we are a lot more like them than we realise. We’d rather paint ourselves a righteous figure when we are all wicked creatures.

 

What I called love is an obsession disguised. And so while she is my obsession, the world was hers. Possessed by obsession. Shaped by obsession. Ruined by obsession.

 

This world is full of obsession. It’s what we do with it that ultimately counts.

 

So when my fingers pick up the pen, I already know my answer. Take one last glance at the girl, the object of my desire, the rose devoid of thorns. Smile.

 

Can you keep a secret?

 

Yes.

 

[THE END]

 

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Not quite the ending that you expected, now did you? Anyway, before I write any further, my thanks I give to you for taking the time to read this piece. It's a romance, a realm not so explored by me and I hope it was enjoyable, even if a bit odd. I write this with the purpose of realising that we have our own obsessions, be it knowingly or unknowingly and we must take care from being entangled completely in it. If you have any thoughts, feel free to comment and voice out your opinion. I would love to hear from you, though it is not compulsory. I'm already grateful for you for reading this whole piece.

 

This one's for the boy in the jacket, the one who held the door open for me in the most unexpected of times, and though you are not who I pictured you to be, may you be well and that your heart will find the capacity to love people and grow exceedingly.