Something definitely happened over the holidays. I could just tell.
He was changed, somehow softer, if I may so boldly describe. And how that came about I couldn't be sure.
It's not him. It's actually you. You're different, calmer, and probably even subdued.
I couldn't acknowledge it, not when I was with the professor in this seemingly suggestive circumstance that we were stuck in again, sitting face to face in a too relaxed state on a concrete bench in the sidelines of the wide, open field.
What he initiated almost made me think he liked provoking malice in people. Despite this he carried an air of guarded indifference in his surroundings as he fixed his full attention to what I was telling him as if it was the only thing that mattered in the sepia afternoon.
My narration wasn't even stimulating nor it was important, just a comment about the laze of people and things, and it had been the midterms.
His oriental eyes were a little too dazed as he looked at me, like his mind had flown elsewhere.
I instinctively frowned as the wind picked up, turning away to hide the rising flush.
"Stop it. You're making me very uncomfortable."
My ears had become so warm that they could melt.
The reverberation of his chuckle held a wryness that was hard to miss. I dared another look at his cryptic expression.
"People are starting to talk now. Are you sure you want to get into such a mess with me?"
I studied the undeniable hopeful glimmer in his eyes, and I was careful of my next words.
"I don't care about what they think," I said with a note of seriousness I didn't think I could muster that moment. I figured he asked to see me to actually talk about this today in the pretense of just hanging around.
"There is nothing to it. Isn't knowing what we really are what matters?"
The cool January breeze ruffled my unruly ponytail and all the browning leaves on the ground and trees. It was somewhat unnerving.
He appeared as if he was torn between wanting to believe me right away and confirming it one more time. By now I had expected him to rephrase his question.
"Really?"
An assuring but mischievous grin easily materialized on my face.
"Sure. And if you're up to it, we can always play with their imagination."
His rich laughter ricocheted in the vastness of the soccer field.
And it felt strangely good to hear it. The manifestation of his amusement was contagious, and I couldn't help but laugh with him, unconcerned of everything else in spite of the peculiar looks thrown our way.
Sepia transformed to chrome and indigo in a slow and poignant transition. The skies were witness to a bond forged in confidence of each other's doubts.
The professor didn't have to ask about who I liked however, because he really didn't have to, and I didn't have to be stuck again with giving away information that he didn't need to hear. It was embarrassing to share my hopeless attraction to Michael, who was not even in the country anymore, the red on my face rivaling the color of my shirt.
Thankfully, he offered an emphatic smile as if saying things would be alright somehow. I tried to match the look even if I couldn't believe the implication of it. Being a pessimist was pitiful enough.
It was becoming cold when dusk broke. I was already kicking random pebbles on the narrow track that everybody identified as Lovers' Lane when the professor started on the unlikely topic with him walking too close beside me.
Inwardly, I scoffed at the irony of the silly name, knowing it would never be more than any other insignificant sidewalk to us.
Never.
He was changed, somehow softer, if I may so boldly describe. And how that came about I couldn't be sure.
It's not him. It's actually you. You're different, calmer, and probably even subdued.
I couldn't acknowledge it, not when I was with the professor in this seemingly suggestive circumstance that we were stuck in again, sitting face to face in a too relaxed state on a concrete bench in the sidelines of the wide, open field.
What he initiated almost made me think he liked provoking malice in people. Despite this he carried an air of guarded indifference in his surroundings as he fixed his full attention to what I was telling him as if it was the only thing that mattered in the sepia afternoon.
My narration wasn't even stimulating nor it was important, just a comment about the laze of people and things, and it had been the midterms.
His oriental eyes were a little too dazed as he looked at me, like his mind had flown elsewhere.
I instinctively frowned as the wind picked up, turning away to hide the rising flush.
"Stop it. You're making me very uncomfortable."
My ears had become so warm that they could melt.
The reverberation of his chuckle held a wryness that was hard to miss. I dared another look at his cryptic expression.
"People are starting to talk now. Are you sure you want to get into such a mess with me?"
I studied the undeniable hopeful glimmer in his eyes, and I was careful of my next words.
"I don't care about what they think," I said with a note of seriousness I didn't think I could muster that moment. I figured he asked to see me to actually talk about this today in the pretense of just hanging around.
"There is nothing to it. Isn't knowing what we really are what matters?"
The cool January breeze ruffled my unruly ponytail and all the browning leaves on the ground and trees. It was somewhat unnerving.
He appeared as if he was torn between wanting to believe me right away and confirming it one more time. By now I had expected him to rephrase his question.
"Really?"
An assuring but mischievous grin easily materialized on my face.
"Sure. And if you're up to it, we can always play with their imagination."
His rich laughter ricocheted in the vastness of the soccer field.
And it felt strangely good to hear it. The manifestation of his amusement was contagious, and I couldn't help but laugh with him, unconcerned of everything else in spite of the peculiar looks thrown our way.
Sepia transformed to chrome and indigo in a slow and poignant transition. The skies were witness to a bond forged in confidence of each other's doubts.
The professor didn't have to ask about who I liked however, because he really didn't have to, and I didn't have to be stuck again with giving away information that he didn't need to hear. It was embarrassing to share my hopeless attraction to Michael, who was not even in the country anymore, the red on my face rivaling the color of my shirt.
Thankfully, he offered an emphatic smile as if saying things would be alright somehow. I tried to match the look even if I couldn't believe the implication of it. Being a pessimist was pitiful enough.
It was becoming cold when dusk broke. I was already kicking random pebbles on the narrow track that everybody identified as Lovers' Lane when the professor started on the unlikely topic with him walking too close beside me.
Inwardly, I scoffed at the irony of the silly name, knowing it would never be more than any other insignificant sidewalk to us.
Never.
