Disclaimer: Nothing of Tennis belongs to me.
A/N: Be warned! This is not a love story, nor a fluffy fic. It's been a long time since I last wrote, and I realized I do miss writing. So, read and review - Let me know how you feel about this one.
He had been reading Shakespeare that day.
In a bid to escape the crowds outside on the university campus, he made his way to the library, knowing that on a day like this, no one would think of going there.
A day like this. A day he never appreciated. Even if he believed in the notion of true love, this whole flowers and chocolates charade that lovers indulge in turned him off. Love was never meant to be showcased.
Having decided to boycott the love sonnets, he headed straight for the section where he knew he would find the tragic plays. Was he in a mood to feel melancholic? He didn't know, for all he felt like doing that day was simply to immerse himself in the world of heroic figures falling, falling from the great heights. Call him a sadist, call him Fuji Syuusuke.
He chose a secluded spot near the French windows in the library. There never was a rule that tragic plays had to be read in the gloomy darkness. He enjoyed sitting there by himself, savoring the solitude of reading.
That was when fate decided to intervene in the form of another lover of Shakespeare.
He heard the mutterings, but chose to ignore them.
The soft female voice paused for a second and Fuji let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
He takes a swift glance to his left, and identifies the girl. Her long hair falls forward as she bends down to search through the bookshelves. Not bothering to shift in his seat, Fuji waits patiently for her face to be revealed. He didn't have to wait long. With an absent-minded gesture, she sweeps her hair back and tucks the errant strands behind her right ear. She resumes her standing position, and Fuji notices a slight frown on her pretty face.
As if she sensed someone's glance, the female in question turns and takes a look in his direction.
The light shining from behind him casts a shadow around her, and the brightness envelops her somehow.
Her eyes wandered over his frame, and he resists the urge to flinch. For the first time in his life, Fuji is not the one doing the observing.
Her gaze rests on the cover of the text in his hands, and with a slight nod, she turns and moves away from him.
He didn't expect her to stay.
She didn't.
What he missed out on in his calculations was how she came back hours later.
By then, he had already finished the play, and with the ending resonating in his mind, he closes his eyes briefly.
The day's last rays of light streamed in through the glass windows, leaving him with bright white spots in his mind's eyes.
A soft touch on his lips rouses him from the sleep he fell into.
Barely concealing the look of surprise on his face, he stares into the eyes of the person standing in front of him.
Had it been a dream?
Shakespeare does have a way of inducing a world of fanciful images.
He didn't have a chance to ask. By the time he picked up the book that had fallen to the floor, she had already left. For the second time.
The only scrap of evidence she left behind was an image.
The burning image of her cerulean orbs looking into his.