Snowed in

Part 3

Phoebe

My eyes realise who I'm looking at before my brain does. Life seems to float by in slow motion as I take in the person in front of me. It's been a year, but I still recognise him. I still recognise the guy who I bumped into this time last year, the day before I was leaving the slopes to go back home. I've thought about him, this guy, every single day for a year. The way he smiled at me made my heart tumble, tumble down to my stomach. The pulls on his lips as he smiled made me forget my name, my words, my voice. Something I've regretted everyday since last year.

I've fantasized about this. My journal has countless entries, all with the same meaning. That one day, whether this year, or the next, or some time in about a thousand years, I would bump into the first guy who looked at me, truly looked at me.

And now, after all this thinking and wanting and imagining, it's happening.

Flashback, last year, January

I shiver against the cold air. My brain practically melts at the thought of sipping a hot chocolate in the warm cafe, letting my body warm up in front of the fire. Curling up with a book is all I can think about now, after being out in the snow all morning. I can't go back to our place either, what, with my parents on my back about doing my schoolwork. It's the last full day we're here in the snow, and I intend to make the most of it. There's plenty of time for homework on the plane, and anyway, I'm practically finished everything I needed to do.

I remove my ski goggles as I continue walking up the hill, the warm, bright lights of the cafe now in my line of sight. I can practically taste a warm pastry, and can picture myself curling up in a soft chair. As I near the front door, I juggle my ski poles under one arm, and extend the other to grab the door handle. But, just as my glove skims the metal handle of the door, the heavy wood is pulled backwards, away from me. A bunch of kids charge out from inside the cafe, blocking me from entering the cafe. But it's not going into the cafe that I'm worried about now. 

I'm staring at this boy, and he's staring at me, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm being looked at, being seen. Like someone is really looking at me, really trying to see through my eyes who I am, and what's running through my mind. He holds the door open, a small, boyish smirk coating his lips. His ski goggles are positioned atop of his head, his bright eyes looking right across at mine. I feel myself becoming shy under his stare, the intensity of it sending a flush to my already bright red cheeks.

"Sorry," he begins, his soft voice breaks the tension, forcing me to refocus. "they're the kids I'm teaching. I should probably be teaching them manners." He lets out a chuckle, the edges of his lips pulling up into an even broader smile. I can't speak, can't force any words out.

So instead, I stand there like an idiot, and laugh pathetically. His smile doesn't fade, even as I remain too overwhelmed to think about words.

Words, words, words.

It's only then I realise he's still holding the door open, and motioning for me to go inside before he moves out. I pass, my head bowed slightly, only raising my eyes as I walk right past him. He nods, still smiling, before opening his mouth.

"I'll see you around then." He passes through the door, as I'm left unable to move. I watch as he moves out into the snow, chasing the kids he's teaching and placing his goggles on his eyes. But not before turning back, and shooting me a wave. I can't do anything but just stand there, my mouth hanging open, and knowing I'll probably never see the guy who saw me, ever again.

End flashback.

Cement lines my throat, the air in my lungs escapes. I can't see anything, can't think of anything apart from the boy standing in front of me, the one who's name I don't know, but face I've memorised. The warmth of his hand gripping my arm, and the other fastened around my waist brings heat to my cheeks, my breathing becoming heavy.