Cherry Blossoms (a short story)

Cherry blossoms

People often said that spring was the season of love; the warmth melting the residue of winter, causing flowers to bloom and saturating the world with colour. If I had to describe how I felt then, this would be it. The first time I laid my eyes on her she was standing under a tree, admiring the cherry blossoms that had begun to bloom. Her gaze, consumed with the scene in front of her, made me wonder if she had noticed me or not. With a small gust of wind, the delicate petals blew off the branches and rained down on her like snow.

"Aren't they beautiful?" she asked, her voice soft like a quiet whisper.

"Of course they're beautiful; who doesn't like flowers?" I replied, my gaze unwaveringly set on her figure. I was hesitant to tell her that the flowers were the last thing that caught my attention. Because, in comparison, her eyes were so much more beautiful that I felt compelled to keep my gaze fixed on them.

As I watched her, I began to take notice of the ever so familiar uniform that I had dreaded wearing everyday. I've read that the way that a person dressed said a lot about them. She wore her skirt above her knees that clearly broke the dress code that stated that the length of our skirts had to be at knee length or below, something about being modest they said. She had to be new. I wasn't surprised because it was the beginning of the school year, and this was when new students usually enrolled, but I did wonder why she would ever move to our school, which was old and outdated, not to mention the hideous uniforms we had to wear every day that made us look ten years older than we actually were.

She smiled.

"What kind of flowers are they?" I dumbly asked. Everyone knew what cherry blossoms looked like, especially in a small town like this where they bloom every year, but I wanted to use any excuse to keep talking to her.

"Are you saying you don't know what kind of flowers these are?" she raised her eyebrow and lightly laughed, "Cherry blossoms."

I pursed my lips and awkwardly nodded, "Cool," I said as I felt my face grow hotter. I don't remember what we talked about after that, but I do remember how fast my heart was beating. I felt like I was on fire and like I might spontaneously combust at any moment, like someone had set a slow and steady match beneath my center, deep in the pit of my stomach.

Remembering my past self, I wanted to smack myself in the face. All I could say back then was, "Oh" or "Cool."

How dumb I must've sounded.

I should have said something better, maybe something more poetic (even though that might have been even more embarrassing) so that I would leave a trace of myself in her memories, even if it was just a little bit. It didn't matter whether she remembered my face or my name but I hoped that my voice or words would be remembered.

Our meeting was brief, but it wasn't long before I saw her walking down a hallway, our gazes briefly meeting. My gaze was constantly drawn to her figure, hoping to catch small glimpses of her. For a while, these glances satisfied my curiosity, but as time passed and my feelings grew stronger, I became more greedy. I found myself wanting to talk to her, laugh with her, and joke with her. I knew from the start that these feelings were something one didn't hold for a mere friend because I desired to feel her skin against mine.

But after realising that I wanted more, fear began to set in. I started becoming sensitive to the things I never put my mind to before like the ways in which people looked at me. I felt as if I was constantly watched, like my heart had suddenly become transparent and everyone could see the feelings I held in my heart for this girl I talked to only briefly. I didn't know someone could fall this hard so fast that I began to doubt whether what I was feeling was even real.