Stars in our Hearts

She went by unnoticed

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Unrequited Love; love that is not openly reciprocated or understood as such by the beloved.

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She fiddled with her thumbs, knowing she was next in line. He didn't notice her before and she knew he wouldn't notice her today either. But she wanted to be near him whenever she could.

She stepped forward, biting her bottom lip and looking at the TV screens that displayed the menu. She could see him in her peripheral vision doing something behind the screen where he'd write down the orders. She cleared her throat.

"I'll have a—"

"Iced vanilla latte with extra sugar right?"

Unable to stop herself, she looked at him—straight into his eyes. His dark brown skin shone in the dim light of the café, the hazel in his eyes were beautiful. She could imagine herself looking into them forever. Her breath hitched, her body felt warm underneath the brown coat she chose to wear.

Pull yourself together, Aly.

Her mouth agape, only shock and awe were controlling her in that very moment and she was afraid she'd say something embarrassing.

He chuckled and she swore it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. "You come here everyday. Your order is pretty much stuck in my head, Alina right?"

Alida, but she wasn't gonna correct him. Not when this was the first time he'd said something to her other than here you go or what can I get for you?

So she nodded, dumbfounded.

"Give me a couple of minutes, I'll have it ready in five." He happily traces the letters of her name, or her so-called name Alina.

It's only one letter, Alina or Alida, at least he tried to remember my name.

Alida walked to the side where she usually waited for her drink.

She watched him work, his muscles bulging under the white t-shirt he wore and a piece of his curly hair stuck out from underneath the black baker's boy hat.

One of the older workers tapped him and he bent down to reach her height, she whispered something in his ear and smiled brightly. A small, prominent dimple appeared on his left cheek. Just when I thought he couldn't get more attractive.

"Here you are," he extended his arm to give her the cup. She mustered up a small thank you, but she knows he barely heard it from the way he slightly leaned over the wooden bar table.

Alida walked to her regular spot. A secluded booth next to a window. When she took a seat, she glanced one last time at him before taking her sketchbook out of her bag. 

She took her time outlining the fabric and the physicality of the body. Over time, she learned to accept body types. It took her a while since she wasn't happy with her own, but when she got there, she saw how magnificent they could be. Each body was a canvas for her, and she painted a masterpiece for them. Every curve was an opportunity for her to create more and she loved it.

She had pitched the idea to Madame Cha about having models of all body types and race walk the runway this year, but her idea was turned down because Cha told her, "Clothes are made for people who fit in them and everything goes well with white." She didn't agree with this statement at all. Body was body, whether it was small or big, wide or long. Every inch was beautiful. Same thing with skin, she knew Madame Cha was a racist. It might have been an assumption but there was way too much proof about it.