I hadn't really noticed her until that day.

I vaguely saw a girl run past me in the crowded hallway, her long brown hair streaming out behind her. It didn't really matter much to me. She ran by again and again, and after running around the school probably five times, she came running up behind me.

"Mark," she said, gasping for breath, "Mark James!"

I turned and she slammed into me, both hands on my chest, coughing and panting.

After she stayed there, leaning on me to catch her breath for a minute, she stood up. She pushed her glasses up her nose with her finger, gave a little bow and thrust the folded piece of paper she was holding into my hands, then ran away as fast as she could.

I looked down at the piece of paper in my hands, then slowly unfolded it. It had been folded in half three times. When I opened it, I found a well-drawn picture of a dog. My dog, actually. The detail was amazing.

Thinking nothing of it, I put the drawing in my pocket and ran to class.

But the same thing happened the next day, with a different picture, a flower this time. For three weeks, she did this, doing the exact same thing every day.

At home, I had all her pictures pinned to a bulletin board. As I sat there looking at it, I thought, and I realized what she wanted from me.

The next day, she did the same thing as always. But when she turned to leave I grabbed her wrist. She looked up at me, terrified.

"You know," I said, "you don't have to do this every day. You can come to me whenever you want."

She smiled and nodded, I let go of her wrist, and she ran away again.

The next day, as soon as I arrived at school, she walked up to me. She leaned on me, put her head on my chest, and put her arms around me.

"Hi there," I said. She gave no answer. "You know," I said, "I don't even know your name."

She looked up at me and said one word. "Celeste."

I smiled. "You don't talk much, do you?"

She shook her head.

"That's okay," I said, "I like you anyway."

She smiled.

After that, we were together every day. When she wasn't there, people would come up to me and ask me "Are you really dating her?"

And I would say "no." I wasn't dating her. We were just… together. They could take it any way they wanted to, but I, for one, liked her.