"A new student, Thomas, joined our class today. Thomas recently moved here from-" my teacher announced, his voice trailing off uncertainly, showing he didn't know where Thomas moved here from.
"Um, California," Thomas interjected, finishing my teacher's sentence for her.
'Why would someone want to move from California to our small town in Georgia?', I wondered silently.
"Thomas, feel free to choose any available seat," my teacher instructed. There was an open seat right behind me, and I prayed he wouldn't choose it, given the two vacant seats in the back. But, as luck would have it, he conveniently sat down right behind me. Ordinarily, I wouldn't mind someone sitting there, but with Thomas being new, I hoped to make a decent impression. That's when all these worries and thoughts began to run through my mind like never before.
What if the back of my head looks weird?
What if I raise my hand, but my teacher doesn't call on me, leaving me awkwardly putting it down?
What if I'm blocking his view?
These thoughts flooded my mind, trivial as they were, and more confusing was why I cared. Making Thomas my friend wasn't a priority, but I didn't want to appear like a loser—though deep down, I knew I was one.
At least he didn't know it yet.
During lunchtime, as usual, I found myself sitting alone, eating random items I scavenged from my pantry before leaving for school. I refuse to eat the school-provided lunches but lack the energy to plan my own. Lost in thought about my evening plans—whether to watch television with my mom or indulge in a solitary movie session—Obviously, I really faced a tough choice.
The loud chatter from the lunchroom clouded my thoughts. I look up to see Thomas standing in the middle of the lunchroom, with a look of confusion on his face. He almost looked lost? It is his first day, to be fair. Before I know it, Thomas makes direct eye contact with me. I quickly divert my attention to my lap, where my hands sit, fidgeting.
A minute passes, and I assume he found a place to sit. I stay in my seat, thinking about my previous classes, and what homework I will have to work on later.
My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a voice, "Could I sit here?"
I blankly stared at the boy standing before me, pointing to the table I'm seated at—Thomas.
"Uhh," I stammered, confusion overtaking my ability to speak coherently. Does he not know anyone else? Is he choosing to sit here, or does he have no choice? He doesn't even know me.
"Oh! Um, actually, you know what? It's okay," Thomas responded, starting to walk away hurriedly, assuming I was making an excuse to avoid sitting with him.
"No!" I exclaimed, shaking my head, trying to backtrack, my voice louder than intended. "You can sit here. Sorry, I just wasn't expecting you, or anyone else for that matter," I hurriedly explained, hoping I hadn't scared him off.
"Really? Don't you sit with anyone else?" Thomas inquired.
Nope.
Perfect. Now he knew I had no friends.
"Um, I guess not," I replied, hoping my words didn't sound as lonely and depressing as they felt.
"Well, now you do!" He responded in a cheery tone, one that I was not expecting, surprised he still wanted to sit with me. Although, the only reason he's sitting with me right now is because I very well may be the only person he knows right now considering he's new and sits by me in one of my classes. Until he finds people he's actually friends with to sit with, I'm okay with him sitting here, and weirdly happy he's here.
Not sure what to talk about, I ask him about his move to Georgia, which leads us to talk about a variety of topics like his life in California, and my moving from the UK to Georgia, and it feels like I've known him for longer than half a day, but I fear he may just be really friendly and I'm misreading this interaction. Does he want a friendship from this? Throughout our conversation, he maintains unwavering eye contact. It's unnerving, an unbroken gaze that makes me feel both uncomfortable and strangely captivated. Despite my reluctance, I find myself repeatedly looking away, even though I wish I didn't have to.
His eyes bore into mine, intense and piercing, as if trying to uncover something hidden beneath the surface. The unyielding eye contact sends a shiver down my spine, my instincts urging me to break away. I try to maintain composure, but the weight of his gaze leaves me feeling vulnerable and exposed.
Internally, I wrestle with conflicting emotions. On one hand, I'm drawn to his unwavering attention, appreciating the rare intensity of our interaction. On the other hand, the intensity is overwhelming, and I long for the moment he looks away. It's a peculiar mix of fascination and discomfort, a push-and-pull between my desire to hold his gaze and my instinctual urge to look away.
Is he just like this, or actually interested in what I have to say to him? I can't imagine it's the latter, and maybe he's just pretending to be super engaged in this conversation, secretly thinking of how to get out of it, but for now, I silently pray that he possesses a genuine curiosity in what I'm sharing with him.
A complete reversal has swept through my thoughts since earlier when I had no interest in getting to know Thomas, let alone befriend him, but now, I find myself reluctant to end our conversation, desiring to continue talking with him for as long as possible. The connection we're building, however unexpected, has sparked a newfound interest that I didn't anticipate.
With every passing moment, my curiosity deepens, craving to know more about Thomas, his experiences, and his perspective on the world. The barriers I initially put up to keep him at a distance are crumbling, replaced by a growing desire to explore the possibilities of friendship.
Of course, just as our connection starts, the school bell rings, signaling the end of our time together. Fourth period awaits, dragging me away from the exhilarating realm of possibilities that emerged in our conversation.
Reluctantly, I tear myself away, promising to pick up where we left off later, hoping that our newfound connection will withstand the demands of daily life.
I start to walk away before I'm stopped.
"Wait, I don't even know your name," Thomas states.
I feel like an idiot, I didn't even tell him my name. Obviously, I knew his, but why did I never tell him mine? That's like 'Meeting New People 101'.
"Newt" I reply to him.
"Newt," he restates. "I like that name," Thomas says, smiling and then walking away.
I can feel my face turning red and getting hot. As I watch him stroll down the hallway, heading to whatever class he has next.
Why am I reacting this way?
YOU ARE READING
strangers | newtmas
Fiksi Penggemar"don't talk to strangers or you might fall in love" In a small, close-knit town called Willowbrook, where everyone knows each other, lives Newt, who's cautious and reserved, and believes in the power of love but feared the unknown risks that came wi...
