The quality or state of being nervous
She looks at him and she swears she forgets how to talk. She forgets how to move. She forgets how to breathe. It is as if there is a cage of butterflies trapped in her stomach and every time he nearly glances at her the butterflies erupt and she is stuck in place, stuck staring back at him like an idiot. Her hands shake as he smiles, and don't even get her started on how he says her name.
It's velvety and comforting and possibly the most beautiful thing she's ever heard. It makes her feel anxious; everything about him makes her feel anxious. The way he looks at her, the way he makes her feel, the way he simply lets his head fall back as his eyes screw shut when he laughs at how she manages to sputter out a joke or a single syllable in the cutest way.
When she replays their conversations over in her mind the cage of butterflies erupts and she's nervous and excited for their next conversation. She's worried that she'll come off as stupid or he'll lose interest because he is all she's ever wanted; he's all she's ever needed.
It's hard not to feel that way around someone like him, someone as beautiful as him. He's beauty in the way he presents himself, he's beauty in the way he looks, and he's simply beautiful. She likes the way they talk, the way she laughs at his jokes and how he smiles at her awkwardness. It's hard for her not to feel like they're perfect for each other.
"I want to get to know you."
That simple sentence is enough for her to feel anxious and high strung, but for all she knows, that's a good thing.
