Diagnosis – Love Sickness

“Your Creative-Writing assignment is to write a short passionate piece on the most romantic experience you have had – No fifty shades of grey please!” My teacher announces with tone of sarcasm in his voice as he gives a quick look to Jake who frowns. But I’m distracted, barely even looking at them.

Why do I take so much notice of her?

What was she diagnosed with? It can’t be that bad right? Because I watch her in class; we only share two classes together but either way, she always has that look in her eyes every time I see her. That passionate look, like she’s seeing the whole galaxy shine before her on a single faultless summer night. It made me wonder what else she was passionate about, it made me think about how often her face lights up with excitement. I felt like I knew her, yet here I was still not knowing her entirely. I wanted to know her from her breadth and height. I wanted to explore the depths of her darkness and investigate the light that vanquishes the abyss that she conceals with her smile. Is it normal to be so obsessed? Ah! – I need to stop.

I blink away my wonderment reluctantly and stare out the window instead, but I find myself gawking at her again. Her lips move but no words come out, the teacher announces something, and she smirks. There she goes again; she always knows the answers, whispers it to herself but never announces her intelligence to others. That really bugs me; if I were that smart, I’d make sure others knew! But not her. And I kind of like that. She’s humble. It’s annoying, but I find myself liking that about her. Weird.

I like her hair too, sometimes she has it in twin tails, like she’s still in never land; other times – like today – it’s just down naturally, messy yet so attractive. I’ve never really taken much notice of a girl’s hair but hers is just…It’s like velvet trails from her head and frames her face perfectly and hangs from her shoulders in the most elegant way. And her face, man – her face is gorgeous. All her features are so soft yet sweet. Her face is round, and her chubby blushing cheeks are constant victims of pinches delivered by her friends. I kind of wish I could pull her cheeks too… that sounds kind of weird. Perhaps, I should have kept that one to myself. The point is…

She’s perfect.

Everything about her is perfect. Even the way she falls asleep and drools during class presentation days. And the times where she has random angry outburst or goes on a rant to her friends – I find it amusing. Oh, and her awkwardness! That, along with her innocent voice, shyness and bushing are the definition cute. She’s probably not that humble either – as much as I try to make myself believe that. In truth she’s simply she  a wallflower. Sure, she comes in everyday like as if she’s someone new; different moods mean a different look, but I think that’s interesting. And so what if she carries around a box of happy pills, and has scars cascading down her arms? She tells everyone that they’re battle scars… but that doesn’t make sense to me, since all she ever emits is peace, wisdom, and a tad bit of clumsy dorky-geeky-ness .

How can anyone hate her? How can she hate herself like that?

Regardless, she’s perfect, and all I want, to is to know her better, know why she’s so cute, why she’s so shy when she’s a bloody philosopher-author-photographer-in-the-making; I want to know what kind of guy she likes and what goes through her mind every second of every day. I long to know what it’s like to have her stare back at me with those big brown eyes, filled with love and lust and affection. I want to know what it’s like to love her. I just want to know her –

“Three words, go!” – My teacher suddenly interrupts my thoughts bringing me back to reality. I realise he’s talking to her. I swallow and sit up, quickly finding myself immersed in the lesson… or just infatuated with her all the same.

“Uhmm… Non-existent, Imaginary… um… hopeful?” She smiles bashfully; the teacher shares the same surprised look as me but then returns the smile and spares her any further embarrassment. Yes!! I grin to myself – I have chance, however slim – I have a chance!

“You boy, three words to describe your experiences of love!”

“M-M-Me? ” I stutter. My teacher nods and urges me to go on and share on my gory details. “Well…” I stall as everyone waits patiently for me to answer. My eyes look desperately to the door and then the clock – there’s no escape this time. I sigh, all my experiences have been pretty bad but I suppose I have no choice but to share that with the class. I sigh and search for the right words. Let’s see… well I’m traumatized for starters and:

“Scarred and…” my eyes drift towards her… “Shy, and … so… and so unfathomably beautiful…”

The words leave my mind and escape via my mouth before I can even comprehend what’s happened. Suddenly conscious, I realise I am amongst a silent class who have turned back to stare in confusion. I steer clear of the possible awkward eye contact and doge my vision up at Sir. He grins at me fully aware of the inducement behind my words.

“That wasn’t three words, but I’ll let you off since you’re such a hopeless romantic!” the class all laugh under their breath not fully knowing the intent behind his words. Then, as if nothing has happened he resumes with the lesson. Asshole – he knew! He picked me on purpose!

I slowly drown in my seat and hide behind my book; embarrassed… One last look, I promise myself. I turn cautiously. My chest tightens as I realise she’s already staring at me; our eyes meet, she stares at me in puzzlement, her face is flushed bright pink. – She knows too!? She quickly hides her face behind her fringe and avoids me…she hates me. She hates me! She definitely must hate me!

However, from behind my book I see her glancing at me.

Though as much as she tries to hide it, she’s smiling now and I find myself smiling too.

She’s contagious. And my diagnosis?

… love sickness…

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