It was a dull day. A slow dull day. The sky was painted a grey that felt like a perfectly cozy warm bed. There weren't any birds around, so no chirping around campus as I walked down to the old art department. Just the sound of cars whizzing by on a busy afternoon and the occasional wind.
The weather is ridiculously unpredictable, angel. Even this morning it was terribly sunny, so I went down to the store to buy your favorite lychee juice. But it began pouring the second I stepped out of the store and I had to turn up in front of your place drenched from head to toe with a bag of cold wet lychee juice bottles.
You laughed, my heart danced. And you brought me towels to dry myself down. You've gone to make me some hot chocolate now, I'm alone with Aster once more.
On days like this I am tempted more than anything to remain beside you. Beside this comfort. If you never found out about the feelings I hide. If you never found out about everything that happened.
Everything I did.
Life could be this perfect everyday. Everyday I hear you laugh, see you smile and grin as you tease me about the silliest things. And I would play along with you just to hear you talk more in that playful tone.
Does it make any sense to you my angel?
That I love you so much I can't hide this from you. I love you so much I know you deserve much better. I love you enough to choose to not burden you with my feelings, to not burden you with me.
When I finally leave, perhaps a few weeks later you will forget all about me. Or you will live on to tell all your new friends stories of how much of an asshole I was. How I was selfish and cruel, about how I left you because my intentions weren't pure.
About how disgusting that was.
I won't blame you. I want you to do that. I want you to smile more and laugh more and forget me.
I've always been terribly sorry I spoke to you that day. I've been terribly sorry that I would do it all again. Just to be next to you for a while.
Our first class was anti-climatic. Perhaps that was how it seemed to you. I had some broken knowledge of whatever I looked into yesterday, and decided to pay attention to whatever the teacher would say in class today, so I could talk to you about it.
But you walked in. and you stood in front of everyone.
"Good afternoon guys," your voice loud and clear, and not just for me. "Im Ayla, and ill be your instructor for this course. The curriculum planned isn't too difficult and I'll try my best to make this as entertaining and engaging for you as possible."
Your hair had been put into two plaits, your glasses flashy as ever. Aster wasn't around and your cousin I saw from the other day was standing in the corner of the room, looking at you fondly, I think.
"Let's start!" your voice was a bundle of sweetness, a few scattered giggles were heard around the room.
I was a little taken aback then. Of course you were the instructor.
Why hadn't I connected the dots?9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrVOg48DIyg
I felt like a child at once. All nervous and shy, excited and expectant.
I wanted you to come talk to me. And then I beat myself up a bit for thinking that. How demanding of me. You started your class, explaining the basics. I tried my best to pay attention angel, believe me I even studied the night before. But if whatever I studied last night felt like Greek to me, whatever you spoke that day sounded like a whole other language from an ancient buried city.
I couldn't make sense of a single word. But I paid attention anyway, noticing how you carried yourself with confidence. With such blinding soft confidence I was sure everyone in the room with me was in awe. Your hands, careful and precise, as it shaped the lump of clay into an apple.
Claps had resounded around the room. I didn't move. I remember the soft lighting framing your face, your hands glowing as they placed that apple on the table. You look up and smile, gentle, swelling with satisfaction. Your purple glasses glinting, "This is what you will be doing today. So, there should be clay on your tables. My assistants and I will walk around and help you with any doubts you have."
Murmurs, shuffles and the crowd dispersed. I had looked down at my clay and looked up at the apple you managed to make.
I would try.
You would want me to try, even when I feel I can't, you would want me to try.
I had struggled with the clay for a few minutes, wrestling with it honestly before I heard your voice.
"Are you banging your clay against the table music girl?"
I had frozen, warm guilt climbing my neck. "I was," I had racked my brain for a better word as I turned to face you, "shaping it?"
You giggled, "You're hurting it. You need to be more gentle." You stepped forward and held out your hand, "Here."
I stared down at your hand, fighting the urge to put my hand in yours.
That's not what she's asking. Of course not. It can't be. Is it?
"Your clay, music girl." you gestured with your hand. "Oh right." I had dropped my clay into your hand and you had patiently explained how to gently shape it, this time grabbing my hands as I handed you the lump and pushing my fingers down into the clay.
My heart had come up to my throat, this giddy feeling climbing up my spine.
"See this is how you do it. You need to be careful at this part." occasionally you would roughly feel over the structure as if to map it out in your head, before you resumed explaining things i should focus on.
I paid attention. And I learnt.
By the end, I knew how to make an apple out of a lump. A questionable apple. But an apple none the less.
You laughed at every out of pocket silly thing I said and reprimanded me every time I made a mistake.
I remember so clearly it was the first time you smacked me on my shoulder, you would have missed me if I hadn't been so close. "I just told you not to do that." your voice stern. I had grinned from ear to ear, "sorry, my thumbs are the size of cricket bats. I'm trying my best angel."
You snorted. Tried your best to bite back your smile, but I saw it creep out anyway.
The class ended and you thanked everyone for attending. The weather had only gotten gloomier. The sky now a washed out shade of the sea on stormy nights. I offered to walk you to your car, you accepted.
We walked next to each other in silence, till we reached your car.
"Till next time then, angel."
"Naia." I hummed in what I hoped sounded like curiosity and not delight. Would it be too cliche for me to say I love the way you say my name? Perhaps it would be.
"Could you play me a song the next time we meet?"
"At the park?"
You shuffled your feet, "if that's too public we can do it at my place. Sometime after the park date. Sometime next week?"
Park date. Date.
"Of course." my voice foreign, "what would you like to hear?"
"Something," you hummed in thought, "sweet? Yeah, something sweet." you turned around and walked the last few steps to your cousin waiting by the car, "till next time music girl."
"Till next time angel."
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