The Art of Beautiful Words

how they met | him

HE ALWAYS KNEW just how hesitant she was about these kinds of things.

It was those simple things that had the most repercussions in the end. Just like this whole challenge of his.

Some part of her, he thought, was always cautious and guarded. She wasn't so willing to take a risk and jump off of the cliff.

He remembered all the times he had challenged her, the first being their earliest encounter.

They had been sixth graders then, as opposed to their current status as juniors in high school. Silly as it was, she had been scared of auditioning for their school's play, hovering in front of the sign up sheets and clutching the pen so tightly as she debated.

He could sense the unrest from the throng of people behind him, grumbling amongst one another. So he did what was probably the most generous thing he could do that day. He approached her with steely eyes and a raised eyebrow.

"Well," he had said, "aren't you going to sign up?"

Her dark green orbs met his brown ones as she looked up at him in an abashed demeanor and handed him the pen. "You go on."

He didn't even bother to get the pen that was held out before him and instead, snapped, "Just write your name, it's not that hard."

Something about him and his tone irritated her to no end that moment, he could tell. Because just as he said it, she huffed indignantly and scribbled her name onto the paper. And as she walked away, he could've sworn he heard her mutter under her breath.

"Asshole."