I'm not sure exactly how it began. You were dressed like every other student in the room, but you stood out to me. You stood out when you answered the roll and smiled at me. You stood out with your auburn hair and matching eyes. You stood out when you spoke with a grace and elegance that I hadn't known before. I admit to myself I was a little concerned at first, when you started blushing at me every time I looked your way. But I suddenly found myself not helping but blush back, and you smiled at me with all the comfort in the world.
Every week you came by with something for me, be it a small lunch you made because you said you had food to spare or a slice of cake because you baked it yourself. You'd bring it right to my desk, and I'd be surprised you thought of me. Each piece looked more delicious than the last with its taste to match. And you'd always say you aren't really that good. And I'd always assure you the opposite as a glow soon emerges upon your face.
I grew onto you. During the spring you'd wear a flower in your hair, and I'd recognize it immediately as one of my favorites. You wrote to me on a worksheet that they, marguerites, were your favorite also; and you drew a few around that space on the paper. You never stopped smiling for me, and it gave me comfort on any day. If I was late for a faculty meeting, I'd stop for nobody else except you, where you always had another gift for me or just wanted to help in my office after school.
I blushed at the clerk when she showed me the small velvet box. Yes it's an engagement ring, I said. He must have thought me foolishly in love, as he's sold hundreds of rings like these to waiting men who have finally saved up enough from their small salaries. He didn't have a clue that I was buying it for someone half my age, but I'm glad he never did. He was full of "She must be a lucky lady" and "This will make the night of her life"—lines ingrained on his tongue meant to wow men and their girlfriends. But my case was special. I bought it seeking no reward, seeking no "yes" to a plea. It was my way of saying, "I do." It was my way of saying, "I'll wait for you."
That was six years ago. And today I still look out the window from work as I watch you now take extra steps past the first gate on the corner and towards the high school next door. Through the green diamonds of the chain-link fence, I see you walk with that charm and subtlety I fell in love with, both developing more beautifully each season. And if I look closely enough, I'll see the gleam in the sunlight of the ruby on your finger, and it will remind me of the gleam in your eyes when I first gave it to you.
I sometimes think about what I've done for you; I taught you Japanese and how to vault a three-foot horse. There were the trips to the skating rink and the ski resort, and you learned the techniques of both flawlessly. I sometimes wonder if I could teach you more, that if when you get on that bus again to go to the observatory or Tokyo Tower, I could be there, too, and show you the stars. I ask the bear on my desk with a ribbon around its neck, and for the longest time since you've been on the other side of that fence, it tells me yes.