It has been quite awhile since I have met someone new. I, being unable to organize hangouts with my friends, become lonelier by each passing weekend and I absolutely despise it.
The library is fairly empty given it's a Friday night; my school is a party college. Everyone normally shows up on Sunday nights to cram for their Monday midterms. I am one of the few who chooses to study on Friday nights, mainly so I can do nothing on Sunday and just chill.
Whether or not I am able to actually retain the stuff I was studying was another question, but I'm here. The other people in the library are far and few between, but enough to keep it dead silent, even for a library. The desk I am at is made of wood and blocks out any distractions with its three surrounding walls, including an extra one on top with a headache-inducing fluorescent light attached to it, that I so love. Note sarcasm.
I can see anyone who walks by finding a desk for themselves, and you can bet I look at them. It would be rude if I didn't look at them or acknowledge them at least, mainly because we share a seat on the struggle bus, but also because I know they all try their best to look their best.
I mess around with ideas for a Shakespeare paper that was due in about four weeks, getting nowhere fast. Around 7:30 a boy walks in obviously my age with headphones in his ears, a regular white t-shirt on, flip flops, and skinny black pants hugging his legs closely.
He found a desk quick enough. When he put his bag down beside his desk I notice his gold watch, only catching a glimpse of it cause he's all the way across the room. I like his style that's for sure.
He took off his watch and laid it on his desk so he would make sure time didn't get away from him, causing me to smile. Time goes by so slow for me here that I don't need a watch to keep track of the time.
He seems regular enough, with brown hair, tan skin, and pretty fit. I look back down at my desk, the worry about the essay coming back to me. I lean back and pull my arms behind my back to stretch, causing the old wooden chair to squeak under me as I rock it backward.
He glances over at my desk. He had taken off his headphones and had heard my stretch break. I make sure to keep my stare on my own paper but I know for sure that he kept looking at me for a solid thirty seconds. Remember that time goes slow in here, so it felt like an eternity. I decide to look up at him as if to say, 'yeah I'm here.' I nod my head at him and he returns the favor.
His stare lingers on my face, goes down my body slowly and he looks back at his work. Oh! I wonder if likes my style. I laugh. No matter how long a guy looked at me it's almost certain it's cause he's bored, not because he wants to undress me. But there's always hope, right?
I laugh to myself. I get back to work.
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