Last year.
The rain had just stopped when I walked home from school, when I saw you at the lane, walking before me. I thought you were my boyfriend—you had a similar look from behind. About to call you but as I came closer, my short-sighted eyes told me you were not. You were a bit taller and slimmer.
I walked along the lane with you before me. We went to the same direction but, no, I wasn't following you. Somehow you stopped by the store I was going to go to. So, yes, we entered the same place. Talking with the shop lady, you said funny things. And you laughed. And I fell for your joke. I couldn't help smiling.
My professor hadn't come so I decided to go downstairs and grab something from the canteen. And you were there when I walked out of my classroom—in front of your class, joking with your friends, laughing out loud. I knitted the brows looking at your silly action. You noticed me and said something to me, absurdly, about your friends being stupid. Then you laughed with them again. That was the first time you talked to me. Again, I couldn't help smiling.
I saw you. Frequently. At the coffee booth in the canteen. And at the copy shop. And under the canopy, you were rushing to your class. And I knew you noticed me noticing you.
Went out with my boyfriend, just like how couples did on Saturday night. Down the residential street, he suddenly called someone he saw. It was you. Yes, you. He knew you! So I asked him who you were. A friend from his hometown, he said. And he told me your name. I was so happy to know your name. But I regretted that you saw me with my boyfriend.
Just some other night, going home from a date. Again, we bumped into you on the street. My boyfriend and you greeted each other. And I could only watch your back, as you walked away, as this hard feeling struck again: I never wanted you to see me with him.
I broke up with my boyfriend. No, not because of you.
Last week.
You were sitting by the school gate. You smiled at me. I didn't know how to react.
