She was like an angel of my dreams. Her face – so angelic and painfully gorgeous, always watched me with a half confused, half amused expression on her face. It was excruciating to hold it for so long, yet unbearable to look away from her. Yet, I was torn between staring back into her lovely honey pupils or looking away and foolishly fumbling with my Calculus homework.
And I kept on rambling like an idiot. I don't even remember what I was rambling about. But she laughed here and then, her voice like tinkling bells – and it instantly put me at ease and entranced me the same, making me feel grateful that she listened to a guy like me.
Yet she never seemed to take her eyes off of me, it was as if she was impressed by the way I moved my features. My heart beat faster all the same, but I thanked God for my face being unable to blush furiously.
Then she started speaking, and finally, looked away from me, straight ahead in front of her, gazing at a wall. It was my turn to observe her – the way her silky hair moved about her, golden and warm brown, shining under the April sunlight. It ached my heart to know that this angel was within my reach, yet I felt I couldn't grasp it.
Her high cheekbones were rosy, and her exotically shaped eyes long and so sensual, it made my bones tingle underneath my skin. A few hours would pass by so quickly, and I'd find myself in my car starting the ignition and wondering what had just happened to me.
Only if angels were real, I thought, then she would be the loveliest of them all, only without a pair of giant, white wings. These are the thoughts I thought as I painted a beautiful angel sporting a pair of wings on her back.
Something about this girl was … supernatural. She didn't look fully human. I mean, of course she was, but given the fact that she seemed to possess some kind of aura about her. For example, one day her skin would be pale as white, and the next day her skin would be warm olive. She seemed the best in her warm olive skinned state, because she looked like some Greek Goddess rising from the sunbathed ocean of Asia.
"Hey, how are you?"
These were always the words she first spoke to me when we met each everyday. One day I wouldn't be able to handle such expectations and would often flee somewhere else, excusing myself that I had to study for an exam – like hell I would, I would just sit there thinking about her.
I tried to look disinterested – for she seemed so interested in me. Why? I could not understand, for I was nothing but a tall, scrawny kid with very few muscles with an ordinary face.
She once complimented, indirectly, on my hair, saying she thought it was 'perfect'. In my mind, I cursed deeply, for nothing about me could define the word, 'perfect', and here she was, sitting as inhumane she could ever be, defying the word, 'perfect'.
Later, I would go to sleep, haunted by her at night and unable to get rid of her out of my mind.
It was such a sweet torture.