"Looking Down, Wanting Out"
Sakura's POV
.:..:..:.
The whole day I thought about him.
In English, I noticed him staring at me, but thought nothing of it and smiled back. He had turned his head in embarrassment, as if it was a crime.
And even though I would have loved to stay in that room forever, I left along with everyone else, and then walked home alone in the still pouring rain, thinking of him with each step I took and each drop of rain that fell.
I hugged my knees to my chin as I sat on the window seat in my bedroom, which was undeniably extremely neat. That was one thing about me that hadn't changed; I was still the biggest neat freak I knew.
And I was also the biggest dreamer I knew, too.
As I looked out the window, I wondered what he was doing now. Where he was. Was he thinking about me? Would he want to think about me? Did he know I was really me?
Mentally, I told myself to shut up.
Sakura, he barely knows you. You barely know him.
Not true. Everyone knew who I was. Or did before...
God, you're acting as if you're in love with him.
Then it dawned upon me.
How could I love someone when I'd never talked to them? Never heard their voice?
Didn't even know their name?
I shook my head as I looked down into my backyard, somehow wishing he would be here with me and we would finally find out about each other.
We couldn't go long without talking, could we?
It just wasn't possible.
Syaoran's POV
.:..:..:.
I strummed the chord as I lifelessly began to slid my fingers down the fret boards.
I wasn't in the mood for practising my guitar, but it was the only thing worthwhile to do.
I wished that I had a band.
It would give me more things to do, and would occupy me from my pity.
And hey, it might even get me to have a couple more friends.
Yeah, right, dream on, Syaoran.
I desperately wanted to write something. Anything. About the lamp next to me, about the moldy leftover pizza in the kitchen, why I was such a loner... Anything.
You could right about her, a little voice inside my head told me.
Suddenly, I decided that would be the best idea to not completely waste my time.
Write a song.
Why not.
I flipped to a blank page in the notebook sitting on the desk and began to scribble down nonsense. The first things that came to my mind.
The way she looked at me.
The way she smiled.
The way she noticed me, and I noticed her more than anyone could.
I smiled to myself as I set down the notebook, knowing that she would hear these words.
They would speak to her, be directed to her, and with all the feeling in my voice, I'd express what I was really feeling in my empty soul.
She would finally hear it.
Yes, she would.
When I finally spoke.