The Last Rose: a romance novel

| January 17, 1994 |

Chrysan

"Do it."

Chrysan's heart jumped in his chest, the fretful corners of his brain second guessing his hearing. He was currently in Mr. Gridley's class, a week into school, and working on that day's assignment when Emi spoke. And yes, he did know her name, as he actually cared enough to listen during attendance on the second day of school, if only to learn a little about the mysterious girl whose chair he might have stolen. The statement was a bit quiet, but it definitely came from her.

"Do what?" he asked timidly.

She seemed to pause, as if realizing that she had actually said that out loud. Chrysan willed himself not to laugh at her anxious behavior, mostly because he was feeling the same way.

"Uh – um. Nothing." She laughed nervously, keeping her head forward.

His brows furrowed as he held onto her countenance. Emi made a pained expression. "No. Actually, could you help me? I don't get what we're doing..." She finally turned to face him, and Chrysan's concern melted away with a smile.

"Yeah, sure. Where should I start?"

She faltered for a second. "Oh. Honestly, the very beginning. Please."

He collected his thoughts, then pointed to her paper gently. "Okay. So, you use the matrix thing we learned..."

"I don't know what that whole thing is..." She interrupted, forcing her lips into a thin line.

He considered her for a second, reaching for his notebook and showing her the process he had written down. "You solve for each of the variables one at a time by multiplying the whole row, like this."

He worked out the first problem, ushering her to try the second one once he finished. She picked up her own pencil and concentrated on her work, Chrysan watching her intently. At first, he kept himself on track, the first half of the problems went by like a light breeze, he was educating her, nothing to it. However, once they started to talk more and more, getting deeper into the worksheet, he stopped looking at her writing and started looking at her face.

And boy, was he ever so glad that he could multi-task.

There was nothing in his mind. He was completely blank. He could solve math problems like a machine and just stare.

So, he did...and once the worksheet was all filled out and he had no more excuses to keep staring, he still stared.

He just prayed that she couldn't sense it.

The first thing he saw upon sitting next to her his first day of school was her hair, and it was prepossessing, but now...

Now he saw the natural tan of her clear skin, the tenuous flush of her cheeks and ears. He saw the golden-brown hue of her irises and the singular patch of freckles that decorated the bridge of her nose, almost so faint that he barely recognized them. He saw the curve of her lips and the shape of her jaw, the creases between her brows that materialized when she found a problem to be difficult. He saw every twitch of the nose, every blink and flutter of her lashes, every swallow.

He stared so long he must have committed the image to lifelong memory. And it may have been creepy, but he couldn't care less. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to.

You're not so real, huh?