SEVEN YEARS AGO,

The last train to our collage is how I met him,

He was young, and so am I,

I can tell he is eccentric from the way he keeps sketching pictures all the way, ignoring people around him, as if only his body is here, while his soul is in a different world. I gripped my drawing book tightly, and focused on my breathing, fighting my urge to compete with him. Maybe it's just me, or maybe all artistes are like this, and I feel challenged. He is wearing headphones but there's no song, just to block the noise from the public. I found the technology very convenient; I want to ask where he bought the headphone but I didn't want to disturb his peace, he seems to enjoy his moment, and I was lost in his passion. I gave his drawing book a last peek and that is how I caught his stare at me. A rare beautiful fairytale green eyes really suit his black skin. He gives me a small grin before turning an empty page and beginning a new sketch. I swallowed my spit when he starts throwing more glances at me and his sketchbook. I have always been the one who sketches other people, I only become a reference to myself, and never have I ever had someone else to 'draw me like one of your French girls'.

The train stops, and we are the last to get off. I walk towards the college entrance, and he is still sketching and walking at the same time, following me like a shadow. All innocent left me; I feel creep run through my vein when I stood right in front of the female dormitory. Why is he still following me here? I turn my back on him and glared. He throws me a glance and giggled like a child before continuing to his sketch. "Do you mind?" I asked,

"Ten seconds. I almost—done." He answered, I sighed, and let him continue his drawing—I have been walking all day, and my feet are strained. He approached me and put a dot on the sketch, "You have a mole under your eyes." He said. He ripped the paper from his sketch book, fold it, and handed it to me. "I will see you again, he-he, my lord." He added with a soft giggle, before running off toward the male dormitory.

I watched him until he come tiny and disappeared, he was such a weird cinnamon. I unfold the drawing and sighed. It's a Japanese cartoon drawing, mostly known as 'an anime' version of me. My art lecturer would tear this and call it not-art for sure. In the drawing, I am sitting on a throne of skeletons. I look like the evil character that everyone loves due to my exaggerate features. I have misjudged him as a weirdo, he's a joker, for sure. I shook my head before giving the drawing a second thought, "I look good in a crown." I said,