Love in Poetry

Chapter 2

While my encounter with William didn't last long, the memory lingered and replayed in my head each day after. I tried to shake it away. After all, he was an egocentric prick. However, as much as he annoyed me, he still intrigued me. But that didn't matter, there was little chance I'd ever see him again. Although I wasn't familiar with his work, someone as admired and famous as he must have a busy schedule. And visiting a small bookstore like this was surely odd.
Out of sheer curiousity, and nothing more, I decided to take a look at one of his books. After all, the store was filled with them, and although I was illiterate, I could make out a few words. Before I could get past the first word, the same ring of the door bell I had heard a few days prior startled me. And naturally, in walked William.
"So, you are a fan of mine after all," he teased, pulling the usual smirk and taking a seat beside me.
"I-I was simply curious. Fan is a strong word for it," I said, straightening out my posture.
"Well, how do you like it? Are you impressed?," he asked.
"I mean, I can't say I've read better," I sighed.
"What is that supposed to mean? It's really that bad, huh?," his gaze softened and he looked almost hurt.
"No, I mean I'm sure it's as great as you've talked it up to be," I jested. "But I haven't read better because I've never read at all. I guess you could say I'm illiterate," I spoke softly. I had never disclosed this to anyone before. But for whatever reason, he didn't seem like a threat. No, I felt rather comfortable around him... and I hated myself for admitting it.
"Well, that's definitely not what I expected from a bookstore employee," he said, confused.
"I know, it's ironic isn't it," I nervously laughed. I felt my cheeks heat up as if they were on fire. I was blushing. For him! Only a few minutes ago I was vexed by his presence, but now I was slowly falling into the category of the girls who fell straight head over heels for him. I confused myself constantly.
"Well, (y/n). I think it's about time you hear some of my poetic talent since you can't read it. Perhaps I can even assist you in that field later. But for now, I do love witnessing those cheeks of yours flush," he said in a flirtatious tone. Was he really making his move? Now? His ego must be sky high this time.
"Poetic talent, you say?," I replied. "Let's hear it."
"Alright then," he said confidently. "I've been preparing this ever since your cheeks flushed moments ago. You are my inspiration for this one."
"Tomato red seeps
As it spreads like a disease
The tears of a rose"
I was speechless. Could I really be the inspiration for such a beautiful work? My embarassing moment had been transformed into something ethereal. This was the feeling I had dreamed to obtain from reading. All I needed was to hear it from his gentle voice as he read the work of a mastermind.
"That's a haiku, right?," I asked. I had simple knowledge on poem structure and could at least recognize one.
"Correct. Turns out you do understand my work, (y/n)," he smiled.
"You know, you're better than I thought you'd be. After our first encounter I got the impression you were slightly narcissistic. Turns out, you're quite sweet," I admitted. My feelings had gone in circles, figure eights even, but now they all pointed to him.
"Sweet? That's a first. I like it. No ones ever seen me that way." He spoke with a new kind of tone. More vulnerable and tender, contrasting the former jestful manner he possesed.
"Yes, you are. Sweet like a milkshake, my favorite dessert. It kind of sounds like Shakespeare... I'm going to call you milkshake!," I laughed. Stupid, it was. But I hadn't felt this form of happiness in far too long.
"Milkshake it is," he grinned, and our laughs drowned out everything else in the world.