The first thing I saw were her hands. I was in my math class with my head down, carefully writing some equation on my paper because my hands were too cold to write comfortably and legibly. I looked up from my paper and saw a pair of pale, bony hands. Her veins protruded and they seemed as if they should be shaking, but they were perfectly still and perfectly fluid when they moved. My eyes traveled up from her hands to her arms to her shoulders, up her neck, and rested on her face. I felt my eyes widen and a blush on my cheek. It had been so sudden that the second I realized my reaction, I tried to shake off the awe and pretend as if I saw nothing. But I faltered and my eyes were fixed on her. It was foolish of me but I thought, "My god..."
I describe her as having a face of an angel. She was pretty, but not only. She possessed a certain kind of handsomeness and had a beautifully pixie cut of a prince. She wore a baseball hat over her short hair and glasses over her nose. She wore sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a zip-up. She was tall and lanky. In fact, I recall noting just how long and skinny she was. She was up on the board, boldly writing down her answers on that first day of class. I expected her to be jittery, anxious, nervous, and shaking. But her voice never cracked. Her hands never shook. And she knew exactly what she was doing. Not just with that equation, but with everything she did.
Short-haired girls do it to me every time, I thought. I was so focused on looking at her that I hadn't realized that I was just...staring. I blackened everything while she stood up there. When she caught me staring, I didn't even have it in me to look away. I just let her look at me staring at her and didn't care what she'd think. I felt my hands, clammy as expected. My chest was pounding the room and I didn't know what to do with myself. I'd been mesmerized by some awkward-looking charm of the most handsome girl I'd ever seen. I didn't think I'd ever seen such a boyishly beautiful girl. It was foolish of me, like I said. What struck me about her is the lack of sex that would usually corrupt my mind once I see someone I'm attracted to. It was still lustful of me, of course, but there was innocence in this attraction. I didn't just want to take her away with me and take her down. I actually wanted to know...everything I could possibly know about her. I didn't just want to spectate her, I wanted to know what it felt like to be someone to her. It was like a primal instinct and I had no say in it.
Shortly, she walked back to her seat. I sat in the front, so I didn't see her face for the remainder of class. I somehow lost my staring guts somewhere in the middle of the lecture because when class ended and I finally had the chance to get up from my seat to look at her again, I didn't. I saw her from my peripheral, felt my face get hot again, and walked out of the room before I made it obvious again. The next day, she wasn't there. And she wasn't there today either. She probably changed her class after realizing that it was too easy for her. I should have looked at her again before I left on that first day. Now my memory is already starting to erase the image of her.
This is strange.
I describe her as having a face of an angel. She was pretty, but not only. She possessed a certain kind of handsomeness and had a beautifully pixie cut of a prince. She wore a baseball hat over her short hair and glasses over her nose. She wore sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a zip-up. She was tall and lanky. In fact, I recall noting just how long and skinny she was. She was up on the board, boldly writing down her answers on that first day of class. I expected her to be jittery, anxious, nervous, and shaking. But her voice never cracked. Her hands never shook. And she knew exactly what she was doing. Not just with that equation, but with everything she did.
Short-haired girls do it to me every time, I thought. I was so focused on looking at her that I hadn't realized that I was just...staring. I blackened everything while she stood up there. When she caught me staring, I didn't even have it in me to look away. I just let her look at me staring at her and didn't care what she'd think. I felt my hands, clammy as expected. My chest was pounding the room and I didn't know what to do with myself. I'd been mesmerized by some awkward-looking charm of the most handsome girl I'd ever seen. I didn't think I'd ever seen such a boyishly beautiful girl. It was foolish of me, like I said. What struck me about her is the lack of sex that would usually corrupt my mind once I see someone I'm attracted to. It was still lustful of me, of course, but there was innocence in this attraction. I didn't just want to take her away with me and take her down. I actually wanted to know...everything I could possibly know about her. I didn't just want to spectate her, I wanted to know what it felt like to be someone to her. It was like a primal instinct and I had no say in it.
Shortly, she walked back to her seat. I sat in the front, so I didn't see her face for the remainder of class. I somehow lost my staring guts somewhere in the middle of the lecture because when class ended and I finally had the chance to get up from my seat to look at her again, I didn't. I saw her from my peripheral, felt my face get hot again, and walked out of the room before I made it obvious again. The next day, she wasn't there. And she wasn't there today either. She probably changed her class after realizing that it was too easy for her. I should have looked at her again before I left on that first day. Now my memory is already starting to erase the image of her.
This is strange.
