Forget Me Not

Looking At Him

 

Evette Ashford

Imperial College, 2009

Everything about him screamed money — from his shoes to his leather jacket. Oliver Wright carried himself as though he belonged somewhere else. His posh behaviour had always garnered much attention. He would always smile like he was the epitome of happiness. 

He would always be surrounded by his friends — friends who wouldn't hesitate to kiss the ground he walked, girls who wouldn't fear to drop their knickers for him. How many times I had listened to their rants about Oliver's perfect eyes and how deep they are. Well, I wouldn't dare to disagree. What intrigued me more, Oliver wasn't a playboy. Just because he was worshipped by the girls, he would never take advantage of them. 

Strange!

 Oliver indeed was a fine-looking man, with startling green eyes that were a complete contrast to his olive skin tone, making him drool-worthy. On top of that, Oliver was 6' above tall, the broad shoulders indicated he went to the gym regularly.  I had also heard Oliver was a football player, and he had many scholarships due to the game which simply meant, he was very good. 

But! 

There had always been a 'but' associated with Oliver. Though he was a good player, he had never played in his engineering days. That meant he was here because his parents had enough money to bear the expenses of the University. But why didn't he play? Well, nobody knew. He was one of the most intelligent students in the University, professors loved him, they never bothered him with the questions which they hurled at us. 

In one word, he was perfect.

Or it seemed! 

Oliver Wright put a fine display of perfection to the world. But occasionally, his cloak would slip, when for a minute or two he would frown to near-nothingness, or unusual taps of his toes as though he would wish to be anywhere else than those prying eyes of the girls, or suddenly he would stop breathing altogether as if he was controlling something — like an urge to flee when anyone would merely touch him or come closer to him in his personal space. 

Yet, I bet, no one had ever noticed these in him. I did, not because I was a loner, or I wasn't good enough for the boys to give a second glance at me. Yes, you wouldn't call me beautiful, but I had always been proud of my body. I wasn't a gym rat, I ate everything that goes against having a good hourglass body, I always had one or two chocolate bars in my bag for emergencies, such as, sudden hunger or nervousness or boredom.

I was good in studies, no, it was not like I was super intelligent, but I worked hard enough to grab a full scholarship, and I was proud of myself. Living in Ireland with my Grampa was one of the things I missed in my life. Though the Halls of Residence always had a special charm to them. Halls were mostly for the first-year students with shared well-furnished rooms. 

"I would never understand why you are so obsessed with that Oliver." Sameera Khan, my neighbour both in the Halls and class, clucked her tongue. "He is handsome, alright, but that's not the case here. You look at him as though you are dissecting him."

"I don't know, I find him interesting." I shrugged, "He is a very good actor." Sam snorted and looked forward, concentrating on the slide Mrs Rose was showing.

My eyes flitted towards Oliver one more time, as usual, he looked bored. Maybe sensing my stare he suddenly looked back at me with those startling green eyes. He frowned as though he was in great discomfort and suddenly all the discomfort was gone. Oliver gave me a small smile as he again looked in front of the class.