{If he were to look back at it, there were a few things he wished he would have known:
a) He had unknowingly underestimated her.
b) He would miss her.
c) It might have been easier if he hadn't even spoken to her at all that day.}
☂☂☂
She looks at him through her glasses nearing the tip of her nose, eyes the color of rich soil turning into honey under the lighting of the classroom.
He says something sarcastic that he doesn't even register completely, earning a huff of laughter and a reminder that his paper was due by the end of class.
He glances at her writing fervently in her notebook, probably almost done with hers.
A couple of years ago, he had known her from primary school. A quiet girl, whose face would get bright red if he even so glanced at her. Someone who liked reading more than talking, who never used the hand rail to any extent. Odd, little things he noticed.
Granted, most of this is still true, though the blushing part was a lot more subtle.
"Don't feel special, I still haven't grown out of my whole flustering phase."
"It suits you," he says.
"Shut up."
She doesn't look up from her paper, but when she tucks her hair behind her ear, he sees that it's a nice pink. He scrambles to fill in the worksheet before the bell rings.
ESTÁ A LER
Waiting for Rain
Conto"At the end of it all, sometimes people don't fall in love." - Mira and Cason, and all the things that ensue. (excuse the cliche-esque) #537 in Short Story 2.18.15
