Epiphany

You're walking through the corridors of school in silence, it isn't exactly an awkward silence, more like a loaded silence. You can feel him breathing next to you, occasionally shuffling his feet uncomfortably, or maybe just in an attempt to catch your attention - to talk. Talk - you refuse to talk to him - for reasons you fail to understand, for the fear that as usual, something unwarranted would slip out of your mouth and then, you would say things that make no sense to you, or to him, or to anyone. He doesn't dare to look at your face and is looking forward in a way which almost seems forced, and his twitching hands, shuffling feet, make you well aware of the fact that he wants to talk. You're mad at him, and yet you find yourself hoping desperately that he's not mad at you, but you know he is - because he has every right reason to hate you, to despise you after all that you've put him through.



The worst part is that you don't want to be mad at him, just as you don't want him to be mad at you, but you can't help it. It was always easy for you to be mad at him, as compared to understanding, and you've always been one for the easy way out. You can't help the fact that you're always giving him mixed signals, flirting with him in between classes, and then saying 'No' every time he asks you out. And you wish you could say yes, you do, but you always say no, because that's the way it's always been, and you can't let anything change the one remaining constant in your life, that, or maybe your own stubborn pride - your conviction that he isn't worth your time and will serve merely as a distraction. But the word 'no' just slips out automatically, out of habit, and the rest of the day is spent sulking by both of you, exchanging sullen glances, until the tentative flirting starts once over again in a few days. Then finally he asks you out again, and you refuse again, and the same cycle continues, both of you annoyed and frustrated and yet, stubborn.



Just then his perverted best friend walks up, quite oblivious of the apparent tension existing between you two. He smirks and remarks in a suggestive tone that makes you want to murder him right then and there, 'Do you believe in first sight, or do I have to walk by you again?' Inspite of yourself, you laugh at his pathetic attempt to wipe that gloomy look off your and his face, 'You talking to me?' he intervenes, his charming smile back on. His smile infuriates you, it is not fair that while you suffer from one-emotion-syndrome, he can easily change his demeneour around different people. 'Touche. I'm talking to the lady.' You open your mouth to retort, probably tell him to sod off and bother some one else, but he speaks before you even have a chance to let a word leave your mouth, 'The lady will rip you into shreds, and feed you to a shark. Do NOT mess with her.' They break into loud laughter, while you impulsively give his best friend a annoyed look, and turn to him to give him another, but when you look at his face, you can't stop looking. Anger gives way to resolve, and epiphany strikes. It is then that it hits you hard, you like him, alot.



It strikes you, that day, in the corridor, with him walking next to you, and you avoiding him like plague. And just like you knew then you had to try, you suddenly know now that you have to act, before one of you snaps. His best friend notices the intense look on your face, and very intelligently excuses himself. You turn, quite suddenly, towards him. The result is quite as you expected, he stops on his tracks, and looks at you with an expression somewhere between annoyance at your sudden reaction,and listening intently for you to explain your reason of stopping. You force out his name before you lose the courage to say anything, and your voice when it comes out, is stupid, throaty and raspy to your own ears. He raises an eyebrow and you take a deep breath and go on, without a clue what to say. All you know is that somehow, you have to make him understand that, no matter what you say, you care (how could you not?). “Look, I... hell, how am I supposed to say this?” You meet his slightly confused gaze, trying to convey as much as you can with that single glance, and decide that you just have to get on with it. “I... when I say – what I mean is... oh, bugger it.” And with a single burst of enlightenment, you reach up and hug him, tight, as if your life depended on it, with all your emotions poured into that single hug. And just as you're about to pull away in embarrassment and maybe run all the way to the suicide point before jumping off it, he seems to wake up from some trance, and his arms come up to pull you closer. He whispers slightly in your ear, 'Mind loosening the grip a bit, I'm afraid I might break a rib.' You laugh, and hug him tighter.