Carolina and The Fan Non-fiction | H.S

Two

I stopped, cutting myself off out of surprise. On my screen, my supposed nth 'What is romance' was also cut off to 'What is ro.' My eyes darted from the person in front of me to my laptop, begging it to give me words to reply.

"I'm not," I said, finishing my sentence. I flash him a small smile to play off what seems to be my disoriented behavior. From trying to cover my nerve, I was now trying to hide awestruck reactions building up within me.

I quickly highlighted every 'What is romance' typed in the document and deleted all of it.

"Okay," he said, "We're the two customers left. I figured I'd stick around for just a bit."

I hummed, nodding in agreement, not sure about what to say. I was still looking down at my laptop, at the one sentence I have constructed after hours of racking my brain. Come on laptop, tell me, what do I say.

The awkwardness in the air was thickening as I mustered the courage to finally lift my eyes from the screen and confirm he is who I thought he is. And, well, he is. Also, I discovered we really we're the only two people left. By now, the dark and blue of the sky have taken over. The orange of the sun shining somewhere else in the world.

I smiled at him again and at this point I'm running out of non-verbal things to do to make up for my lack of the verbal stuff.

"Tangina, totoo ba to?" I whispered to myself, feeling myself lose control of my speech and my bilingualism pop out which, unfortunately, is all I can verbalize. Fortunately, however, he didn't hear it nor would he understand it.

(Translation: Fuck, is this real?)

"So," he said, returning the smile as he leans forward placing his arms on the table, "what are you up to?"

"I'm was doing, uh, schoolwork," I replied, again nodding and smiling then slowing down the nodding as I grew self-conscious. I might be overdoing the motions.

"Uni girl?"

"Yeah."

"From where?"

"Birkbeck," I shared.

"I'm sorry, I'm being too nosy here," he said, an apologetic grin appearing across his face, "I'm Harry by the way."

He reaches his hand out to me, and I freeze a little. I shook his hand replying with a hasty, "I know."

When I do process this and regret it, I recovered with, "You know what I mean," chuckling and shaking my head in defeat. He reciprocates a chuckle and shows a knowing look, as if to say, he's used to it.

I've often heard he's gorgeous. They weren't lying about it at all. It's almost an understatement actually. He looks Greek-god-book-illustration-godly.

He was pale and blushing, probably because of the weather. His hair wasn't the trademark mop it was and yet he looked just as amazing anyway. There are still evidence of curls, just shorter. His smile was reassuring and is likely the big reason people remain calm around his charm.

His eyes are a topic of their own. His irises look like how an enchanted forest would be if it was a color. They grow dark when he looks down and glistens when he's staring right at you. Which he is, at me, at this very moment. His gaze burns different.

His presence is a force of nature, one that renders you stunned. I discovered that just now, considering he just made me feel like I lost all the words in my vocabulary. And I'm aspiring to be a writer.

I studied his stare, hoping he didn't catch up with what I was doing.

He breaks the silence again, "I'm going to order myself something."