On a mundane morning, I rose from my slumber, following the same
monotonous routine. Melina's early departure hinted at the possibility of
something significant unfolding in her world, though my attention remained
unclaimed by such matters. Bag in tow, I traversed the familiar path to school.
Kelly crossed my path, a cordial exchange transpiring before we settled into
our habitual seats in the classroom.
The enigmatic figure, Aaron, retained his peculiar stillness, akin to a frozen
tableau, his gaze unyielding, fixed solely upon the teacher. My mind
wandered from the lecture at hand, and in my reverie, I noticed Natasha's
unwavering focus on Aaron. A notion of infatuation lingered in the air,
prompting the thought that she needed to revise her list of romantic interests.
Natasha, despite her amiable demeanor, carried an undertone of vexation that
made prolonged company a challenge for those around her. A pang of
sympathy for her situation occasionally tugged at my conscience; she seemed
trapped in a perpetual cycle of seeking affirmation from others.
In pursuit of a book for my project, I scoured the library shelves, yet my quest
remained unfulfilled. Borrowing books was a routine affair, a practice that
suited me well. My gaze was fixated on the elusive book, a state of heightened
concentration that proved perilous as I collided with an unforeseen force.
The impact sent me sprawling to the ground, prompting a cascade of
thoughts. Was this a collision with a fellow human? Pain radiated through me,
and as I groaned, I gingerly rose, directing my attention to the individual
responsible for the unexpected rendezvous. To my surprise, he stood
unmoved, as though a mere spectator to the spectacle I unwittingly provided.
Disentangling myself, I inquired about his apparent lack of urgency. "Were
you in a rush, or is this your usual speed?" I ventured, earning a bemused look
from him. "Oh, I didn't realize. You should!" I retorted, feeling the physical aftermath of our encounter. "My back hurts, What are you made of?" I
chided, seeking an apology.
Acknowledging the accident, he advised caution for future encounters.
Skeptical, I scrutinized his demeanor, detecting a subtle tension that hinted at
hidden emotions. Assuring him of my well-being, I couldn't help but remark,
Next time, if you really enjoy collisions, try a wall – it would be a fair
opponent."
His response was a nonchalant "Okay," leaving me bewildered. Was he
seriously considering colliding with a wall? As I pondered his peculiar answer,
I discerned his unease, realizing that he was evading someone.
As the constellation of circumstances aligned, it became clear that his swift
departure was an evasion, not of my accidental fall, but of her presence. His
countenance bore the unmistakable imprint of irritation, a sentiment clearly
tethered to her actions. Seizing the moment, I guided him surreptitiously to
an unobserved alcove, instructing him to remain concealed.
"Stay here," I murmured.
In a different realm of the library, our paths intersected. "Hey, Nat, what are
you searching for? Can I be a help?" I inquired, wearing an affectionate
demeanor.
"Hey, love. Yeah, I need your help. Have you seen Aaron? I spotted him
heading to the library, and I wished to have a talk with him." Regrettably, my response conveyed disheartening . news. "Oh, I did see him,
but he left suddendly. I apologize.
"He's gone?" Her disappointment lingered. "Alright, I'll check the class
again. Goodbye, love."
"Goodbye. Best of luck."
With her departure confirmed, I approached him. His expression, stoic and
unyielding, suggested an absence of gratitude. "No need for thanks," I
offered, preempting any such expression. "If that word escapes from your, it
would seem out of place."
His response was a silence that echoed louder than words.
"Anyway I am Love" Undeterred, I extended my hand for a handshake. His
confusion at the sudden gesture was palpable.
I am asking your hands for handshake, not to plug them out," I clarified. His
hands met mine, and in that brief touch, I sensed a latent power, an aura of
strength that emanated from him. His hands, weathered and robust, spoke
volumes of unspoken tales. In an abrupt twist of events, he released his grip
on my hand, departing the library without uttering a single word. I found
little amusement in this display of discourtesy. It became glaringly evident
that the gentleman in question was, in my candid assessment, a complete
ne'er-do-well, utterly lacking in the refinement of manners. His conduct left
me in a state of detached reverie for several moments.
It was only when the realization dawned upon me that time was slipping
away, and my quest for the elusive book remained unfulfilled, that I, too,
exited the library. A cursory farewell was offered to the librarian, a certain John, as I proceeded to tread the path leading to my abode—a dwelling that
awaited my presence with an air of impending torment.