She inches closer to the pile of books in front of her. She pushes back her black rimmed eyeglasses on the bridge of her nose and pretends to be so absorbed in the six-inch thick Calculus book she was holding. And she thinks, all of these will perhaps drive him away, saving her the effort of doing so.

But her eyes keep flitting back to the boy, sitting a table across from her own. 'It's Tuesday, he must be wearing a blue shirt,' she quietly stated. She wasn't a stalker, if all of her guesses were right. But, it turns out to be more of a habit than anything. And she would be lying if she tells that she hadn't memorized his routines after a week she had first observed him.

And as much as she hates to think that she'd seen through his all, she couldn't have the guts to reach out. They've been in the same position for years, too afraid to have a hand outstretched. She doesn't talk to him. He doesn't talk to her, either. And perhaps, she thinks that it's fine without words. Rather, she finds it comforting to sit in a mere silence with someone she did and did not know.

And as she stares, he looks up and they share a very brief connection that could have lasted a couple of milliseconds. She looks away, and forces herself not to think too much of his bright sea green eyes and the unfamiliar warmth spreading in her chest.

She doesn't look at him again, partly because she's too afraid she'll look like a stalker and she doesn't want to entertain much the weird butterflies dancing in her stomach.

His eyes continue to scan the words neatly printed on the book, but not really understanding. His pulse is running a bit faster than normal, a very obvious reminder that the blonde girl with swirling storm of grey eyes sitting a table across from his own, spared him a glance. And he tries not to think about it too much, but fails to do so.

And he saw her before, more than what he could recall. He pretends that he hadn't memorized all of her small reflexes, the way her eyebrows scrunch up when she's confused with something and how a side of her lips quirks upwards when she reads something funny. And he wishes, he wishes so badly to hear her laugh, her soft whisper of her name reverberating in his ears. But he doesn't say it though, because he fears, he fears that she'll be too scared to go near him. And so he restrains his hand that he wants to stretch and reach out to her. Instead, he waits, he waits for her to reach him. She doesn't come.

The sun is now sinking and the twilight appears. But, it's been far too long and he still waits.

Yet, still, she doesn't come.

FIN