Everything But Love

Chapter 2 - Thread

Chapter 2 - Threaded

The following morning felt different. Not different in the sense that anything had changed, of course, but I felt different. It was like the sun was shining a little brighter, or the coffee was exceptionally good that morning. For the first time in a long time, it felt like I finally had something to look forward to. Every time I thought about her, it was like a rush of blood to the head.

I even liked the way her name tasted in my mouth.

"Janna," I said to myself, almost in secrecy. "Janna Salib." The mere syllables in her name were enough to set off a million fireworks in my gut and make my knees to go weak. Now, I was certain I was going mad.

After taking a particularly long shower, I wiped down my foggy mirror and examined myself. I began combing my hair for the first time in months, making sure to tame each unruly strand of hair. I shaved off what little stubble I had on my upper lip, and a few scarce hairs around my chin. There wasn't very much I could do about the purple rings under my eyes, so I shrugged it off and convinced myself she wouldn't notice.

I threw on my overcoat, slung my scarf over my neck, and stepped out of my apartment. A million and a half thoughts were running through my head. What if you miss her? My muscles tensed at the thought. I almost broke into a jog at the thought of missing her by even a millisecond.

Then it occurred to me. What would I do about Emilio? I had completely forgotten about him. I could never speak to Janna with Emilio lingering around. I came to a halt. Were all of my efforts in vain? I shook off the thought promptly, the mere idea terrifying me.

As I stood unmoving by the main entrance of the college, her image caught my eye. Today, she was wearing a lilac sweater with a white scarf suspended off her dainty shoulders. She moved so effortlessly, as if she was floating. Her hair was dancing in the wind, and every now and then, she would brush it out of her face with her fingertips. My chest tightened at the spectacle that was her, and I was entranced until I realized that he was with her.

I didn't take a step further. I watched from the distance as one would observe a work of art. It was like my feet were stuck to the concrete, even though I willed myself to move. I just couldn't do it. I watched them get smaller and smaller in the distance, until they were reduced to ant-like proportions. Feeling defeated, I trudged along.

I ran my fingers along the cold, stiff texture of my desk. The minutes felt like hours. My political science professor was lecturing, but my mind was drifting elsewhere. I just kept thinking about the way she pushed her hair behind her ear as it went flying in the wind, or the color of her sweater. What a pretty color.

Suddenly, the door flew open unexpectedly. The entire class turned their attention to the door. A girl rushed in carrying a massive cello on her back, twenty minutes late to class.

"Sorry, professor," she muttered in a strange accent under her breath. She rotated her body towards the class, knocking over some pencils with her cello. Her face blushed crimson red.

She was tall with short, blonde locks. Her bangs were messily cut, and hung over her eyes like sandy drapes. She was holding her books flat against her chest as she hurriedly claimed the seat behind me. She set her cello down in the aisle, so that the tip of the scroll grazed my shoe.

I slowly melted back into my thoughts and closed my eyes. Suddenly, my daydreams were interrupted by a tap on my shoulder.

"Excuse me?" Came a soft voice.

I turned around and faced the girl with the cello.

"Hi, sorry, I'm new. May I see your notes?" She whispered, uneasily. Her eyes were like great, blue saucers in their sockets. Her cheeks still rosy from the incident.