My ears, Diary, Armand

Chapter 1

Dear Diary,

It has been a week since I last wrote. I can't help but feel this strange tingling sensation in my body, and it feels so wrong. I whisper to myself, questioning why this feeling always arises whenever I hear your voice. It's like a bubble in a shaken bottle of Coke, constantly threatening to burst. 

Even catching a glimpse of your face or the silhouette of your body intensifies these painful emotions. But you never speak to me, see me, let alone hear me. Why do you always make me feel this way? Even when I try to close my eyes in your presence, you persistently appear in my imagination, finding solace in the safest corners where nobody else can see you as I do.

Today, by some stroke of luck, I have yet to come across you anywhere. And for once, I felt glad because it allowed me to focus on my life, which I am solely responsible for. I need to achieve good grades to secure a place at U-Els. Yet, you, and only you, continuously divert my attention from what truly matters: my academics, emotional well-being, and mental state. 

Shouldn't I stop thinking about you all the time? Why do you invade my thoughts precisely when I should concentrate on my goals? It's as if you barge through the gates of my mind, just like those heroes in movies who storm through obstacles to save their loved ones. But I don't need saving; you've put me in this difficult situation yourself. Armand, I should hate you. I must hate you.

Thankfully, my friend Jessica always distracts me from you during the worst times. She plays the role of a sidekick, whisking away the main character from their desires. However, I'm not the main character; I'm the unnoticed side character sitting in the corner, observing everything. Who is the main character, you might wonder? You, Armand, are the protagonist here. I apologize for never seeking your permission to be a part of this story in the first place. Can you forgive me, even though you'll likely never read this?

Jess and I sat on a park bench beneath a maple tree today. She joked that I almost looked invisible with my red hair, the exact shade of the maple leaves in the fall. We've exhausted the red-hair joke by now. We laughed and bantered about a photo that someone from our school group shared, which revealed a private area of one of the students.

"It's bushy. Did she fall asleep during the 'How to Get a Dick' class?" Jessy said sarcastically, and I silently laughed.

"I feel bad for her, though," I sighed. "She's probably crying right now, knowing that the photo will exist on the internet forever," I added.

"But I don't feel sorry for her. She should have known better. Why would she send that photo in the first place? And what's up with the 'bush'?" Jess laughed, and I joined her. Then, we continued to joke about the incident, all while enjoying pizza—just in case you were wondering.

Jess always manages to turn the worst moments into the best. She truly is the best medicine to alleviate the pain caused by my ceaseless thoughts of you. She hasn't noticed how differently I behave around her. If I were in her position, I would have noticed the changes after you entered my life. I always wear a constant smile on my lips, and my cheeks perpetually flush, even when you're absent. I've started dressing more provocatively (if I were, to be honest). 

Previously, I would wear a hoodie or sweater with skinny jeans, in case you've noticed—or maybe you haven't. I used to dress like any other girl, not because I didn't care about my appearance, but rather because I was too lazy to ponder what others thought of me. Well, that's the essence of not caring about one's appearance, isn't it? But you, Armand, you've made me care about how I look. I've begun wearing redder lipstick, trendier dresses, and tighter jeans. I'm doing all of this for you, Armand.

Today, Danny asked about my changed appearance in the hallway.

"What's up with that? Are you good, Liv?" he inquired.

"With what?" I signed, feigning ignorance.

"Your whole new look. I thought I saw Britney Spears from afar," he remarked.

I smiled and typed on my phone, "Thank you. It's a new style, I guess."

"Good for you. The caterpillar has finally transformed," he said, hugging me briefly, though my face cringed momentarily.

Then we carried on discussing our weekend plans.

"Okay, see you later, Liv," he said, walking away.

In case you were wondering, he's been my friend since middle school. God, how I wish that friend were you. I don't yearn for compliments on my appearance or for you to hug me because of it. I only desire for you to acknowledge my existence. That's all. Right now, I'm envisioning it. You wouldn't believe the emotions surging through my body. My arms and legs quiver, and I feel butterflies in my stomach and beyond. I'm losing my mind.

Speaking of you, I didn't see you this morning. I passed by your locker, but you weren't there. You weren't at the lunch table with your basketball friends or in biology class. Where are you, Armand? I've been thinking about you all weekend. I even prepared this outfit last night while thoughts of you consumed me. And when I needed you the most, you were nowhere to be found. Once again, I hate you for this.

Oh, there's one more thing I wanted to share with you. This Diary—what's the purpose of my writing in it? It's the only means I have to express my feelings for you. It's not just because I'm mute, although I believe I would still write in this Diary even if I could speak. Let's not dwell on my muteness; I'm too shy to express my feelings to the person I love the most. 

You don't even know me, so why am I writing this? But just in case you become my Romeo in the future, I believe I'll show you this Diary. It will prove that I've always loved you, even before you knew I existed. However, I doubt that will ever happen because you are the stars. I'm a mere satellite gazing at you from down here, captivated by your magnificence. I love you, Armand, even though I think you'll never acknowledge my existence. And strangely enough, there's a certain beauty in that.

Secretly, Olivia