HE STARES FOR TOO LONG. He is surprised that she hasn't noticed yet. He guesses she wouldn't. She probably doesn't remember him. She had run away so fast that day; to think it has been a month. Plus the library is kind of full. Which is strange, seeing as he was able to spot her almost immediately upon entering the room. He learned, recently actually, that he might have a problem. He finds some fascination in watching the blonde. Speaking to her never seems to be an option. He would rather just watch. Observe. His mother used to say that the best things should be left to watch. Like butterflies. She said they were so delicate. Breakable. He didn't want to break her. Though, she already seems to be.
He doesn't know what it is about her. She's definitely confusing. Like a puzzle. He's good at puzzles. He and his father used to do them all the time when he was a kid. Before baseball took up most of his time, and work took up his father's. They would do puzzles day in and day out. With pieces up into the thousands. He remembers how his mother would complain. About how they would argue on how to start. About how the pieces littered the entire floor. About how they would yell at her if she even dared tell them where a piece should be. But that's beside the point. The point is that he is practically a puzzle master.
That fact alone scares him. The fact that he can be so good at something one minute and the next minute be at a cosmic loss. Scary, though she probably can't even hurt a fly. Even if she tries. He watches. Then, her shoulders start shaking and her face is in her hands. She's crying. So, he sits beside her.
“Hi,” he speaks. She jumps in surprise, nearly falling from her seat. He is quick to catch her before she falls. “Relax.”
“What do you want?” She asks. He can barely hear her speak. It actually comes off as a whisper and whimper mix. Or more of a croak.
“Are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” she responds. She wipes at her face furiously as if willing the tears to stop falling.
“You're crying.”
“Go away.”
“You never told me your name,” he says. His friend told him after she had crashed into him. To say the least, he was surprised. He wants her to keep speaking, but he doesn't know why.
“Darcy,” she says before standing. “I have to go.” And he watches. Not saying anything more to stop her, although he can.
