αмσя σмηια νιη¢ιт - English

𝕬𝖓 𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓 𝖆 𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖞 𝖉𝖆𝖞

The first time I saw him was when I was working in the library. Mr Lawrence had given us time to work independently on our reports, and I had chosen to separate myself from the others to my favourite spot next to the window, where I watched the pouring rain and the storm raging outside.

The large oak door opened and a boy entered the room. He was tall, had dark curls sticking to his face because of the rain, and I estimated him to be about my age.

The first thing I thought when I saw him was that he looked cute.

I was astonished by my own thoughts and focused on the boy again.

He looked around the room, calm and relaxed, as if he was the king and the whole world was at his feet. Our eyes met, and my breathing faltered. He looked at me with interest and it felt as if he was reading my soul and thoughts without any effort. I was like an open book to him.

Our eye contact probably only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like it took hours before he took his eyes off me and left the room, confident as a king in his palace.

I could not fall asleep that night.

After that day I saw him walk by a few more times, but he had disappeared quickly again and again. He was like rain; his sight cleared my spirit, but he was too quick and elusive for my fingers. Yet his interesting eyes, dark as the falling night, remained in my mind. They caused sleepless nights and I often waited in vain for hours in the library, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

A week after I first saw him, my patience was finally rewarded. I sat in my familiar spot next to the window, with my book and writing pad on my lap, waiting for the tea I had ordered.

Suddenly the heavy door opened and my heart cheered as my eyes were satisfied with the sight of what they had been longing for.

The boy slipped inside, quickly looked around and disappeared through another door.

Now that I had finally seen him, I did not risk losing sight of him again. I grinned, picked up my things and sneaked out. A servant girl stopped me and stammered that my tea had just been made. I pushed her aside and told her she could give it to someone else.

I rushed away and left the offended girl behind.

I opened the door and looked around in astonishment. It was another part of the library, a part I had never been to before. The walls were covered by bookcases, apart from one wall, which consisted of a large window through which the raindrops seeped. In the corner of the room was an antique looking piano. Around it there were piles of books and countless paper sheets of music.

It was a beautiful room, that was not the problem, but it was not as beautiful as the creature my heart was desperately searching for.

I was just about to leave the room disappointed and settle for another failure, when a hand covered my mouth and pulled me behind one of the bookcases.

It was the boy. Those beautiful eyes were so close and my cheeks turned red, while I hoped with all my heart that he didn't notice.

The boy put his finger on his too perfect lips and gestured to the door. I kept my mouth shut and saw two boys coming in. They looked around fleetingly, and then they left with an angry face.

The boy sighed relieved and let go of my hand, while I became blushingly aware of the unintentional intimate gesture.

'Who were they?' I asked. The boy's eyes became darker. A remarkable gift, I remembered.

'Two boys from my class," he said.

'They seemed angry. What did you do?' I asked curiously.

'They had thrown a girl's homework into the water. They are bullies. I threw water on their chairs. They got up quickly, but it was too late; it looked as if they had urinated their trousers. They didn't like it, to say the least'.

I laughed, and the boy looked at me in amazement. 'You're the first one who can laugh about it.'

I grinned and met his eyes. 'Then the others have no sense of humour.'

He looked at me inquisitively and admiringly. I blushed under his intense gaze. He reached out his hand and touched my glowing skin.

'Are you ill? You feel very warm,' he said, grinning in turn. I looked at him shyly. He stepped forward and stroked his hand over my cheek. 'Or are you blushing?' he whispered with a twinkle in his eyes. A shiver crawled over my back and all I had to do was blush more.

'W-what is your name?' I asked him in an attempt to distract him and stop the hard pounding of my heart. It seemed to work; he withdrew his hand. I was relieved, but for some reason also disappointed.

What on earth was wrong with me?

A cloud passed over the boy's face.

"Why do you need to know that?'

'Because otherwise I'll have to keep calling you "the boy" in my diary.' I blurted out and hit my hand in front of my mouth, frightened.

The boy grinned; I noticed cute dimples in his cheeks when he did that.

'Oh, so you write about me in your diary? Well, in that case I'll tell you, because of those poor curious pages in your diary'.

He was leaning against the bookcase, and he seemed upset.

' My name is Alastair. Now you may laugh.'

I touched his chin and was amazed by how soft his skin was. He was blushing and the roles were turned.

'Why should I laugh?'

He looked at me contemptuously. 'Don't pretend that Alastair is the most normal name on earth.'

I smiled at him. 'It's a special name. I like special people.'

I saw relief and gratitude in the eyes of the boy - no, from Alastair - and realised that I was still touching his face. I quickly lowered my hand.

I realised that I could read him as easily as he could read me.

'Now you have to tell me your name and two weird things about yourself,' Alastair said, and I had to do my best not to chuckle because of the childish tone of his voice.

'Why? That's not fair,' I complained - just as childish. 'I don't remember agreeing to that.'

Alastair looked at me begging, and I growled, realising that this boy could make me do anything he wanted, if only he looked at me with those beautiful eyes of his.

'My name is Oliver, I write poetry and love classical music,' I said, looking down. 'Now you must find me very weird.'

Alastair grinned and did what I did before: he touched my chin and forced me to look at him.

'Dear Oliver, I am very pleased to meet you, and I must confess that I find you a very interesting person.'