Gym: my favourite lesson, purely and simply because she was in my group.

We hadn't spoken properly in months, yet here she was, right in front of me, clad in her trademark Cheerio's uniform and golden cross necklace. She had pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, much like I do when I'm nervous, and was biting it gently. I swallowed and cautiously raised my eyes to meet hers for the first time since god knows when.
I was surprised to find that her hazel gaze was already focused on me: but then again it was normally me that avoided eye contact in the first place; I didn't trust myself to look at her without staring for an uncomfortable amount of time. A small smiled tugged at the corners of her pink lips. I felt my face grow hotter and I had to look down in an effort to hide my stupid grin. What was wrong with me? I was over her, even though there was nothing to be over in the first place. But if that was true, why did I have butterflies in my stomach, and why were my hands so clammy?
We had been through so much together and now we could barely even make eye contact.

I tried to think of something interesting to say, but I couldn't; my mind had gone completely blank. She seemed content with no conversation though and looked at me for a moment longer. I squirmed under her gaze, suddenly even more self-conscious than normal. I took the opportunity to examine her eyes closely because I didn't know when I'd get the chance again.
They were even more startling than I remembered; a unique light brown with a green tint and random flecks of gold. I had regretfully never appreciated them when I could at sleepovers in the good old days. They were easily my favourite feature of hers.
Being able to look at her this close was surreal; usually I would only get to see her passing in corridors or when I would steal a glance across the room while we sat and listened to our instructions during our few lessons together.
My examination of her didn't last long however, as someone walked over and provided a distraction. I looked away, fully aware that I shouldn't be feeling this nervous. She hadn't even looked at me that much, it was probably just wishful thinking. I risked a glance at her again and unsurprisingly, she was looking away. I sighed inwardly and felt my heart sink.
When we did speak, as briefly as it was, it was amazing to hear her voice actually directed at me for once rather than me jealously listening as she joked with her friends. It was wonderful to hear her laugh at something that I had said, even though it wasn't really funny, and the feeling of electricity that tingled through me when we made eye contact was addictive. The smallest of interactions between us had a profound effect on me, and I was thoroughly confused.
I didn't know why I was feeling like that. I shouldn't be feeling like that, and I most certainly didn't want to be feeling like that, as exhilarating as it was.
It was more painful than I remembered to constantly sneak glances at her only to find that she wasn't looking at me, because it brought me back to reality. Hard.
I had built up my own fantasy dream world where she felt the same as I did, where, in the end, we would confess our feelings that had 'always been there' and live happily ever after. The harsh realisation that dawned on me every time my looks weren't reciprocated or my shy smiles weren't returned settled in my stomach, thick and heavy like tar.
I was picked for a demonstration and I stood, wondering maybe if she would actually look at me again now that she had an excuse, but I was disappointed once more. At least it was another opportunity to examine her from a different angle.
I turned my gaze on her, and instantly felt the breath get knocked out of my lungs.
I had always thought she was gorgeous, but I had underestimated just how beautiful she really was. Her golden hair was longer now and tied up in the infamous high pony tail that allowed a better view of her face. Her nose was perfect, her lips were soft and her shy smile was absolutely adorable. There was something about the way she looked at things that was somehow both cute and hot simultaneously; the inquisitive tilt of her head and the way she looked through her long lashes. Not to mention her body.
I suddenly realised that I had been staring for too long and snapped my focus back to the task at hand.
Later on I found myself in a group of 3 with her and our mutual old friend, thus completing what used to be the school's most powerful trio, and I was reminded painfully of the past bitchier version of myself that I had tried so hard to put behind me. Luckily it was pleasant. I enjoyed being in a situation with such playful dynamics, and I soon slipped into a comfortable state around her; something that I hadn't felt in a very long time. It seemed that as soon as I resigned myself to the fact that reality was not the same as my fantasy world, I would catch her looking at me again, still biting her lip and smiling hesitantly, just as I always so fondly remembered her doing.

And so it continued: week after week we would spend those precious few moments together, sneaking looks and hiding shy smiles. She got bolder with her staring and the frequency increased, as did my confusion.
I had no idea what any of it meant: the looks, the smiles, the blushes. It was new to me; there had never been any exchanges like this with anyone else and I didn't know what to make of it.
We grew closer, extending our communication from a smile in the corridor, to eventually saying hi, and then to the occasional text. I wished that I could hug her again; to feel the safety of having her arms around me, letting me know that she was real and not just a character I had invented in my head. I longed to smell her perfume when my nose grazed the soft skin of her neck and my arms were around her petite waist. I wanted her to squeeze me tighter as I was about to pull away, and have our hands linger for a moment after we relinquished the precious contact. Everything about her made me smile. Even the tiniest things, like the way she tilted her head down when she did a small laugh or how she raised her eyebrows at a harder laugh. How she would sing random tunes, not caring whether people were listening. How she wouldn't let her food touch and how she'd use her hands animatedly when she spoke of something she was passionate about.

And then, with the sudden, painful clarity that comes with someone slapping you sharply around the face, I realised that I had fallen once more.