No More Questions.

PROLOGUE : We have history?

I saw you in the October of '21. For the first time.

Dressed in all black. You had your headphones on all the time. Which were, not to mention, too big for your head. You carried a haircut most boys would never ask their hairdresser for. You looked good, and by the way that you sat content in your cheap office chair on a table big enough to serve a dinner for 12, all by yourself... it seemed like you knew that.

"Cute." I thought to myself.

In the common room, where both of us were supposed to be studying, you did all the studying and all I could manage was to admire the view. Until a few moments later, I'd succumbed to my natural tendencies and before I could even tell, my head was clouded with questions.

Who is he?

Does he even go here? I don't think so, never seen him around.

A senior?

Yes, definitely a senior. I'm in the junior-most batch. ugh.

How much older though? Doesn't look like he's a day over 23.

Oh my god.

Is he my age?

The last question in my endless internal monologue triggered a chain of questions which got dangerously closer and closer to having me diagnosed as a case of impostor syndrome right there.

Amid all this chaos, I forgot an essential detail.

I didn't even know your name.

And before I could wrap myself around my wits, you got up from your seat by the huge windows. Left your stuff behind and disappeared. From the corner of my eye, a little head bopping and a slight jump in your walk were all I could see.

I had to go too.

I didn't know when I could see you again. If I even ever could.

All I knew was that I wanted to.

All I wanted was to know you.