a story about a girl and two boys – 3

I told her how I feel today. I couldn’t help myself. I know how wrong it was but I’ve always wanted to do so from the moment I saw her walking into my workshop. I remember that day. Clearly. I think I always will. I remember sitting at this very table, scribbling. When I looked up I saw this tall girl, her long hair was tied in a ponytail. A little pout was on her lips. She nodded at me politely and then stopped in front of one of my paintings. I could tell that she wasn’t having a good day. She seemed quite upset and strangely I had this weird feeling of wanting to just walk up to her and comfort her. So I did.

She looked at me with this puzzled look. Well of course, I was this one stranger and had literally just mumbled incoherent words about the nice weather and if she should smile and a bunch of stuff that didn’t even make sense to me. I remember kicking myself in the head, I should have just said hi but no, I had to go and acted like a total idiot. She remained her poised self, still no smile, but she pointed and asked if it was my painting the one she was looking at. She made me super nervous – and trust me, I don’t get nervous. I said yes, introduced myself, and we talked a bit about my painting. I remember trying to think of something interesting to say just to keep her talking to me, but she moved on to the next painting, gesturing that she wanted to tour alone and I excused myself. Swearing under my breath, I promised I would get her name next time.

She kept coming back to my workshop. First it was once a week. On Tuesdays, I remember. She would come into the building with her usual pouty lips, nodded her little nod at me, browsed around and then stopped at one painting. Then she would take out her notepad and start jotting down. She did catch my attention, but since I was quite embarrassed with how our first encounter went, I would just sat and watched her did her thing from afar. She was one fine view. Aside from the sadness that seemed etched on her facial expression, she was really beautiful. How I wished to see her smile.

It then became quite a habit. I found myself wishing for Tuesdays. Wishing that there would be one Tuesday when she would return and instead of her usual sad-self, she would come and actually look happy. I remember wanting her to be happy about seeing me – albeit there was practically nothing exchanged between us but those pathetic first hello and little nods here and there – but I had this strange feeling that she might be happy about seeing my paintings. After all, she kept coming back. I kept my hope high until one Tuesday she didn’t return.

It was one weird Tuesday. Everything about it was wrong. I couldn’t concentrate, kept staring at the door willing it to open and reveal your face. I waited until late, much later than my usual business hour, but you never showed. It rained that night, and looking at the door I felt this unfamiliar pang at the center of my chest. I tried distracting myself by drafting an abstract piece, I kept drafting silently and the lines turned into a face, yours… That was when I realized that the pang wasn’t unfamiliar after all, I just missed you.

Sometimes I wonder if things would have turned out differently if you had showed up that day. Maybe if you had I wouldn’t have learnt how it felt to miss you. I wouldn’t have drawn that sketch of you. You wouldn’t have seen it and finally smiled at me. I wouldn’t have seen your smile. I wouldn’t have fallen for you. I wouldn’t have put you in such a messy situation – exactly where you are right now. But I guess I’m not sorry and I would have fallen for you anyway.

My Blackberry buzzes and it snaps me back. I pick it up, there’s a BBM from you. It’s late so I guess he’s finally asleep. I put my book down and start typing. It’s going to be a long night, we have a lot to talk about…