𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑾𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒚 ( Unfinished)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

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A Plus
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Wednesday, November 8th, 2017

In the lecture hall, surrounded by rows of students who are all here to learn about English literature, I drum my fingers on my desk, trying to shake off my boredom as the professor continues on and on with his lecture.

His voice drones, and I find myself struggling to stay awake. With a successful attempt to drown out his voice, I plug in my earbuds.

I saw you lookin' for the side door
You didn't wanna stick around for
The rest of the night
I guess that's alright

While popping bubbles with gum, I wrap the wrapper around my finger, and a couple twists later and I'm fiddling with a gum wrapper flower.

I could pay attention and not waste the hour but it's nothing I haven't heard before, and I can't help but think that this lecture will be just like all the others.

Glancing around the room, searching for a distraction, I see students who are in the same drowsy state as I am.

The clock on the wall taunts me, a reminder that there is a whole hour left of this tedious lecture.

My mind begins to wander again, and I find myself zoning out more and more. The overhead lights flicker and buzz, adding to my frustration.

The smell of stale coffee and unwashed clothes fills the air, making it hard to breathe. I can hear the muffled snores and shuffling feet of my classmates, and I can't help but feel envious of their ability to fall asleep.

As my mind continues to wander, I suddenly catch a glimpse of a familiar face in the front row. It's Lizzie.

Has she always been in this class? We're more than halfway through the first semester, and yet I've never noticed her.

I take a closer look, I'm struck by how beautiful she looks, with her long brunette hair pulled back in a neat bun and her emerald green eyes focused intently on the professor's every word.

She's taking diligent notes, her fingers gracefully dancing across the page as she writes. I can't help but admire the way her eyes light up with understanding and curiosity as the professor speaks.

Her eyes seem to sparkle, and I can tell that she's truly passionate about the subject matter. I feel a twinge of jealousy, wishing I could be as engaged and invested in the lecture as she is.

Even if I were to attempt to refocus on the lecture, my mind would just keep drifting back to her anyways. It's my curiosity that draws me to her. That urges me to know what she's like.

Maybe she's new to the school? That would explain why I've never noticed her before.

It's like suddenly she's everywhere I turn. I've seen her at the library, at a party, the lounge cafe where the poetry slam was being held, and now here she is, sitting in my English literature class.

It's almost as if she's been following me, and I can't help but feel a sense of destiny about our paths crossing. I've never been one to believe in fate, but it's hard to ignore the way she seems to pop up at every turn.

As the lecture continues, I find myself becoming more and more distracted.

I can't help but wonder who she is, and what her story is. I want to know everything about her, from her favorite books to her biggest fears.

I gather my books and papers as the professor dismisses the class. The rustling of backpacks and shuffling of feet fills the air as students begin to file out of the lecture hall. I make my way down the stairs, quickly towards the bathroom.