They have experienced much more than us, so perhaps this weird admiration I'm starting to feel isn't entirely unwanted.
With a shrug, I decided to follow the route she took. My footsteps echo softly against the polished floor, reminding me once more of how spotless this school is. It's almost unnerving. I glance at the empty bulletin boards as I pass by, the ones that haven't yet been updated with this year's notice. They look like bland canvases waiting for stories to be written. It's all just potential, hidden beneath the surface.
I turn the corner where she disappeared and quickened my pace. I feel like I'm following a trail of breadcrumbs left by a particularly aloof Hansel. Or would she be Gretel? (The phrase "left by a particularly aloof Hansel" is implying that the person left a trail or clues but did so in a distant or detached manner.)
Doesn't matter. I have to make my way back without being lost aimlessly again. As I walk, I pondered about her story. What made her distant? So icy? It's not like we're in some tragic drama where everyone has a dark past and a secret agenda, right? But still, she doesn't strike me as the type to open up easily. She's probably got a whole backstory full of trials and tribulations that have shaped her into the person she is today. Though, that could just be my overactive imagination filling in the blanks.
As I walked up the stairs, I finally spot the door to our classroom, slightly ajar as if to say
"Hey loser. Here's your chance." I slid it open, half-expecting to find her with a smug.
But no, she's already back in her seat, nose buried in a book like she's trying to absorb its content through sheer willpower. I can't help but snort. Of course, she's pretending that I don't exist. Probably thinks it makes her mysterious or something. And maybe it does. It's working on me, after all.
I shuffle back to my desk and slump into the chair, pulling out my novel. Not that I'm actually reading, No. I'm too busy stealing glances at her, trying to figure out what her deal is. She's like some kind of puzzle box, and I'm terrible at puzzles.
My eyes wander back to my novel, but I can't focus. Why is it so hard just to talk with people? Why does she have to look so cool, sitting there like she's above it all? Ugh, get it together, Kita. You're not here to make friends. You're here to… Actually, why am I here?
I sneak another glance at her. She's still absorbed in her book, completely oblivious to my internal monologue. I almost laughed. Here I am, constructing entire theories about her life, and she probably hasn't spared me a second thought. Figures. That's for the best. The less she knows about me, the better. I don't need her to see how much of a mess I am. Still, there's something about her that pulls me in, makes me want to crack that icy exterior and see what's underneath. But that's just my own loneliness talking.
I pretended to be engrossed in my novel, but my mind is elsewhere. I may never figure her out, but at least she's given me something to think about. Time ticked away, hour by hour, until finally the soft chime of the lunch bell rang through the halls like a long-awaited promise of freedom. I could hear the shuffle of students stepping outside, hurrying for their empty stomach.
Beside me, the Ice Queen moved with her usual precision, pulling out a homemade bento from her bag with the grace of someone unwrapping a priceless artifact. How thoughtful. Hah, but sorry, Ice Queen. I've got different plans. It's my first day, and I'm feeling adventurous. Who knows? Maybe the school cafeteria will surprise me with a five-star, full-course meal. I mean if the floors are this clean, the food has to match, right? I think that's how it works.
I stood up from my desk, careful not to make too much noise. No point in disturbing her fortress of solitude. Not that she even glanced my way anyway. It's fine. I'm not offended. But, as I made my way out of the classroom, I couldn't shake the thought that she's been on my mind for the past hour. Why? Maybe because she's the first person I've interacted here, or maybe she radiates the same energy of loneliness I do. Or maybe I'm just a sucker for mysteries wrapped in sarcasm and dark hair. Hah. Sarcasm and dark hair. That's my type.