Ever Since New York [h.s au]

02

Shakespeare this, Shakespeare that. I sat in my Shakespeare class listening to my professor rattle off reasons as to why his writing was so amazing.

I'd never understood the importance of his plays, sure they were entertaining for the masses, but the majority of them were just sex jokes.

Regardless of my feelings towards the dead playwright, I was still taking notes and following along in my anthology.

We were reading Antony and Cleopatra which, surprisingly, was becoming one of my favorites. I felt my phone vibrate so I hid it behind my computer and opened it up. There was a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: I like it, and I think I understand the whole intertwining of music and literature with death and mental illness thing now.

It vibrated again and another text popped up.

Unknown: When are you free? I'd love to return the book in exchange for answering some of my questions?

He finished that fast? It was Monday, and I gave him the book late Thursday night.

I've got a lunch break in 30 minutes. Can you meet me at the cafe in the library?

Hopefully, he was on campus, and conveniently free. I put my phone down and continued listening to the discussion.

A few minutes later my phone vibrated again.

Unknown: Looking forward to it

My professor finished class with a really beautiful quote from the play. I put my laptop and copy of Shakespeares' Tragedies in my backpack before running to the bathroom.

I looked in the mirror. My blond hair was pulled back into a braid, leaving my curtain bangs to frame my face. I ran my fingers through them. I cursed at myself for not packing my eyedrops as I noticed the red in my blue eyes.

It's fine, he's just returning the book. He's not going to notice your dry eyes, I had to remind myself as I lathered Vaseline on my lips.

I took the elevator down four floors before reaching the cafe. I ordered a plain turkey sandwich with no cheese. Once I got my food I sat at an empty table and pulled out my journal. Underneath the words 'one direction' and 'where do broken hearts go' I started writing what my professor said about how Antony expressed his love for Cleopatra.

"We have a lot to discuss." The same British voice from Friday night broke my concentration.

"One sec," I continued writing, "I just need to finish my thought while it's fresh."

The man went quiet but sat down. I saw my book on the table out of my peripheral vision.

I finished the quote and closed my journal. Then I looked up, future pop star was sitting in front of me. His hair was pulled back into a bun. I liked it, his face wasn't hidden.

"Sorry about that. When I have an idea or inspiration strikes I have to write it all out. Otherwise, I'll forget or lose it." I explained.

"What stuff do you keep in there?" He quickly added, "If that's not too personal of a question."

I moved my hands underneath the table. I was pulling and pushing the pen cap on and off. "Umm, no it's not too personal. Mostly ideas for my novel. It's also like a collection of notes, quotes, poems, ideas, anything that inspires me."

He licked his lips, "And what inspired you today?"

"Something I was reading, well something my professor said about the reading."