I am the kind of person who would fall for someone hard, even if I know there is no chance for us to be together. Funnily enough, my awareness of this matter is as clear as day. I am not dense, nor am I masochistic. I am perfectly in tune with my emotions, but it wavers easily. Thus, my older friends deem me as a young girl who 'wears her heart on her sleeve'. I do not blame them, though, considering they are not wrong whenever they say that. And even if they are, it does not matter.
It was spring, when I warned my dented heart to brace itself, because I was, once again, drawn to a person: black hair that shimmers beneath the soft sun, porcelain skin that glows, and sharp features. His attire, which mainly consisted of plaids or a black shirt and a pair of rugged jeans, did not hide his quiet charm. He always stayed in the same spot to read paperbacks, which would change on a weekly basis. He seemed like a silent, dull boy, but that perception I had of him did not stop me from wondering.
"His name's Myungsoo," Min, my senior, filled in for me during our free time when I casually asked about the boy who always kept to himself. "He's in my class."
So he studies Linguistics?
"He doesn't talk much, but he's the best in our year."
I smiled.
"He tickled your fancy?" she asked, with zero hesitation.
All I gave was a shrug, and Min nodded. It wasn't long before Jia and Fei, two exchange students from China, joined us. Each carried a tray of cafeteria food, and both asked, in heavy accents, what they missed.
"Our Su Ji's into someone again."
"How many weeks will this last, I wonder?" Jia took a pork cutlet, put it in her mouth, and chewed it with gusto. Her cheeks were slightly puffed.
"Two," Fei suggested.
The three shook their heads out of sheer amusement, while I carried on eating.
///
I did not plan on having a conversation with him. I was content, looking at him from afar and imagining these what-could-have-been scenarios. He was an inspiration, a fleeting point of interest. This changed, however, when we bumped into each other one summer afternoon in one of the aisles.
Cheeks burning, I bowed repeatedly, and he replied with a short, "You're all right."
Perhaps it was just me, but the sun did wonders to his complexion. He seemed to shine beneath the shifting, white light going through the transparent windows. His dark eyes, with the faintest speckles of brown, were deep and mesmerizing.
"Are you looking for a book?"
I said I was. The Alchemist.
"The third shelf to your right, starting from the bottom."
And the book was really there. I looked up at him, and he flashed me a smile. It was crooked, and it made his face look less symmetrical—less perfect, more human.
"I was the last one who borrowed it," he explained briefly. He didn't have to, because I knew beforehand. That was the reason why I wanted to borrow the book in the first place. Simply put, I wanted to see a part of him through a fictional story, because I was too much of a coward to get to know this boy, who seemed to be obsessed with the color black.
Is it nice?
"I think it is," a vague smile graced his lips, a bit chapped despite the moist weather. "Tell me your thoughts about the book when you're done reading."
Out of the blue, I told him my name, and he said his. He also mentioned how he always saw me with Min and the exchange students, and proceeded to ask how we became friends. I said it just turned out like that. A tiny chuckle, and a quiet remark: "But of course."
