The first man I saw, he was sitting down alone under the old oak tree in the school yard, a book balanced on his knees,his fingers absentmindedly turning the pages. His name is Theo.
I had seen him before, of course. In the hallway , in class, in the moment when the world was moving too fast and he seemed to exist outside of it. Unlike the other boys, who talked too loudly and took and took up too much space, Theo was quiet. Invisible to most. But not me.
Maybe it was the way he always seemed lost in thought, or how his dark hair fell into his eyes when he read. Maybe it was because, in a world full of noise, he felt silence. And for some reason, I wanted to part of that silence.
So I walked up to him.
"What are you reading?" I asked, peering over his shoulder.
Theo flinched, startled and snapped the book shut. His head jerked up, brown eyes widening as if I had just pulled him out of a dream.
For a moment he just stared at me, his expression guarded. Then, as if realizing he was being rude, he cleared his throat. "It's 'nothing.'"
A flicker of something-maybe amusement, maybe curiosity-crossed his face. Slowly, he opened the book again and held it up so I could read the title.
The Little Prince.
I blinked. That wasn't what I had expected.
"I love that book," I said before I could stop myself.
He gaze softened, "Really?"
I nodded and sat beside him without asking for permission. He tensed for a brief second, but then, to my relief, he didn't move away.
That was the first time we talked -really talked. And to my surprise, he wasn't as closed off as people assumed. He was thoughtful, careful with his words, but when he spoke about books, his voice held a quiet passion. I listened, fascinated as he told me how The Little Prince reminded him of childhood, of loneliness, of the way people forgot how to see the world through innocent eyes.
I had never met someone who spoke like that before.
It made me want to know more.
So I asked questions. A lot of them.
And little by little, Theo answered.
He told me about his love for stories, how they made him feel less alone. He told me about how he hated crowds, how he sometimes felt like he was existing on edges of life instead of actually living it.
"I don't think people really see me," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
I frowned. "I see you."
Theo glanced at me then, something unreadable in his eyes. For a moment, I thought he was going to say something Important. But then, just as quickly, he looked away.
I let the silent settle between us.
And in that moment, sitting under the oak tree, watching the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves and cast golden patterns on his skin, I realized something.
I didn't just want to know Theo.
I wanted to keep him.
Forever.
But back then, I had no idea how much that would mean.
Or how much it would hurt.