We sat in silence on the school roof top, a place where we would always hang out. She had that usual cold aura all over her, unconsciously expressing a face most would find b*tchy. But I know, this façade of hers hides a passionate and nice girl. She’s more than meets the eye.

We were best friends, we were childhood friends—we know everything about each other. From the length of our hair to the tips of our fingers.

We’ve memorized the small mannerisms we have when we were happy, sad, angry, or nervous. I’ve memorized the cartoon she still keeps on watching. She memorized the songs I’m always singing. And whenever we were sad, we've memorized the steps that we had to take to keep the both of us on the ground.

There was no secret between us; if we had one, we would never be able to keep it. Too each other, we were like open books, each letter in our pages were familiar and clear.

Even if we stayed unmoving in dead air, we didn’t mind; we understood each other with little glances, as if our stares were a new way of communication.

So in that day, the moment she looked at me with those cat-like eyes, I knew. I already knew before she even said a word.