Category: Prose
Theme: Infatuation, Confession
Synopsis: Unbeknownst to you, today marked the same day had confessed his feelings. What must have you felt back then, knowing the whys and hows under which he had to like you?
Warmth seeped in between the palms of you and the guy you figured that you were destined to. Painted in his visage was a fervor smile as you glanced from his shoulder. For several silent minutes, the hallways stayed hushed until your wristwatch figured it was time to part ways. As you saunter away from his figure, you began to ruminate. It had been months, and you were still wondering how you managed to end up with someone far from your interests. Moreover, someone who was undeniably out of your league.
You looked back to give him a final glance only to see him catching up to you. Before your mind could even articulate a single thought, he pulled your arms and wrapped them around him—a last hug for today you supposed. A tingling sensation stimulated in between both arms while swaddling each other’s torso; something felt slightly more special than usual, and it remained obscure.
Before you knew it, you were stepping farther away; now with a proper goodbye. The greater the steps you took, the greater the hesitations entered your mind. Should I have approached him back then? Did I deserve someone? More specifically, him. The thoughts you had in vain got pruned when your phone chimed. It was nothing more than a notification from him reminding you to arrive home safely.
You looked at the time, it was already beyond late—but that wasn’t the thing that had stunned you. Today marked the fifth of the month, the same day he had admitted to have his feet swept away by a facet you’ve honed. You were chagrined by the thought of forgetting a memory-engraved day. Puffing a heap of breath, you figured at that moment to go back to that day when he first caught your attention.
As vaguely as you could recall, it was an ordinary day when he approached a friend that you were with. Their interaction seemed only like a casual greeting and nothing more. It continued from that day on that you saw him more often than you did before. It seemed like a hint destiny had been subtly striking, or were the frivolous encounters just your assumptions?
From then on you took every event to a meaningful extent. You were brave enough to attempt the first move, but your intentions back then were different. An invitation to play a game with him, so as an offer to be a friend. You knew you meant things on the contrary to what you said, but kept it like that anyways.
He seemed benevolent, you thought—and it became like that further on. He was always late to return a response on the early days, and you grew a vexation out of it. Days before valentine bowed its arrow, you already felt an urge to give up communicating with him. What was so interesting with someone who seemed uninterested to talk to you anyway? But still, you couldn’t help but comb the school grounds just to get a glimpse of him. You were nothing less than a stalker, just more like an admirer.
Those pent-up frustrations immediately lost its grip after he surprisingly, became the one to approach first. He was the one to greet and ask first, in return, you were the one to respond. Just look at how quick the tables have turned. The laid-back conversations kept its stead until he was the one to show some signs.
You couldn’t promise to preserve the talks oblivious of what had already happened so you returned the signals back. Both of you might already know about the feelings you both possessed, there were just little to no concern about opening it. You thought the game was the bonding agent that brought both of you closer, but it was the simple greetings and reminders you shared every hour of the day. Everyday felt like a bliss, even if you admitted to be anti-romantic; it was his company that had shifted your view slowly.
Sharing stanzas of a missing ensemble became a form of your communication. It felt rather expressive than the simple and direct messages you had both shared. You were the writer with acknowledgement between both of you, and he was just your sole reader. Of every prompt and verses you wrote, he had read among the lines and kept all of your connotations. He had always felt special, not until that very moment you conveyed your exasperation through an entire sonnet.
That same night you were drunken and distressed, you couldn’t help but curse him unconsciously of how witless he was to understand every hints you shot. For hours, you shared your frustrations about him, talking to him as if he was a different person at the end of the line. At that moment, you found out how both of you could be so foolish. You knew he was diffident about how he felt, while you were almost all out on admitting it; yet you still hadn’t attempted. For someone so confident, it would be the least in your expectations to be the one to confess to.
Post-midnight clocked in and it seemed like fate chose to succumb into your desires. A lengthy message came, chiming your phone. It didn’t waver you as you already knew what to expect. Before you could even hold back, tears came racing from your eyes. You had read along the words and soon reached the last line. Oh, how it must’ve felt receiving words of confessions again.
It was only a couple hours until the day would end, you thought of sending him a message reminding him how you fell over and over again.
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