When Love Falls Silent

Grace

The morning classes always seem to give me an eerie feeling. It's not the studies that creep me out, but rather the act of attending lectures itself. Today, just like any other day, I have a morning lecture to attend. It's been weeks since the incident at the library, yet it continues to dominate my thoughts. Despite sharing the same major, I haven't crossed paths with him again. Every day, thoughts of him swirl in my mind. I imagine chance encounters within the university premises, but alas, they remain confined to my imagination. The hope of meeting him again is fading, and I suspect he may have already forgotten about me.

Stepping into the university entrance, I begin my journey down the long road that leads to my department. Students rush past me, racing to their classes. Some gather in groups and engage in animated conversations. The Electrical Engineering Department is on the left, while the Psychology Department is on the right. As I continue, I notice the road on the left that leads up to the Basketball Court and other departments on the opposite side of the university. My Software Department and the Business Administration Department stand prominently, effectively splitting the university in half. I make my way toward my department's road when I spot a familiar figure ahead.

In the distance, I recognized him—the same person I had met at the library weeks ago. It's a surprise encounter, and he's walking ahead of me. He's wearing a navy blue shirt with black jeans and matching navy blue shoes. His black bag hangs casually over his right shoulder as he strides purposefully toward his destination. It may seem like I'm following him, but in reality, I'm just headed to my department. I glance at my wristwatch; it's already 8:30, indicating that class has begun. His swift pace suggests he's in a hurry, probably headed to his class.

I make a conscious effort not to overtake him, walking quietly behind him. My timetable, which I had checked on my way, indicates that my class is on the second floor in Lecture Hall 23. He takes the stairs leading to the first floor, revealing that his class isn't in the basement. I continue trailing him, my curiosity piqued. He turns right onto the first floor, and my anticipation grows. I assume he's entering one of the classrooms, but to my surprise, he takes the stairs leading to the second floor.

I hesitate for a moment but then decide to follow. The thought of being late gnaws at me, but I resist the urge to overtake him. On the second floor, he checks his mobile, probably consulting his timetable. He passes by lecture halls 20, 21, and 22. Then, he halts at the entrance of Lecture Hall 23 momentarily before entering. I stop, momentarily bewildered by his choice. This is my class, not his.

I reach for my mobile, reconfirming my class location, and spot a group message from the class representative: "Sections A and C have combined classes in Lecture Hall 23." Section A is my section, meaning he must be from Section C. A smile forms as I realize I now know his section. I collect myself before proceeding to the classroom.

Upon entering, I notice a larger crowd than usual, which makes sense due to the combined class. It's a bit challenging to pick him out from the sea of students. Quickly, I find an empty seat in the sixth row and settle in, the class already underway.

As I settle, I take a sip of water and place the bottle aside. Retrieving my laptop, I turned it on while the teacher began the lecture. Since it's a programming class, I open my laptop, ready to dive in. However, as my laptop screen turns on, I'm momentarily frozen. His reflection is displayed on the black screen, as he sits behind me, looking upward toward the teacher. I'm caught in this surreal moment, watching his reflection. He notices his reflection and then, in a swift movement, his gaze shifts to meet mine in the screen's reflection. We lock eyes through our reflections.

Eventually, I break the gaze, hesitantly pressing the laptop's power button. The reflections vanish, replaced by the familiar blue screen. I proceed to open my programming app and start working alongside the teacher.

Roll call begins, with the teacher calling out roll numbers instead of names. My roll number is called before his, given that I'm in Section A. When Section C's roll call begins, I focus intently to catch his roll number. As the teacher calls "106," his voice echoes from behind me, responding with a prompt "present." His voice is neither too deep nor too light, but a pleasant blend of both, perfectly complementing his handsome appearance.

The class progresses at a quicker pace than usual. I don't hear him pose any questions or engage in discussions; he seems content to listen, making his presence known only during the roll call. With the roll call concluded, he walked past me to join his friends seated on the other side. There are two boys and four girls—his friends from the library day. While I don't recognize any of them, they exchange greetings, sharing smiles. His companions seemed to be familiar with one another, engaged in casual conversation and then left the classroom.

I pack up my belongings and exit the classroom. In the corridors, I glance around; hoping to catch a glimpse of him or his friends, but it seems they've already gone. An undertone of disappointment tugs at me. However, as I find my way to the other side of the university, to the Basketball Court, and take a seat, the cool air surrounds me. A sense of sadness lingers, perhaps because of him, but then the memory of our eye contact through the laptop reflection brings a smile to my face. Not all morning classes are unnerving, after all.