Stories of Love

Art of Stalking and Self-Collecting

She watched. And watched. And watched.

His hands were rough, but soft as he drew lines after lines, making up a building out of his creative mind. A simple sketch made of overlapping lines.

He always came early. And she came earlier to get to the perfect seat, on the end of the row of her group, to be next to him. Side by side divided by a fabric layer and a thin glass.

She loved to watch him draw.

She knew he still didn't know, because he never glanced back at her, always so engrossed on his drawings, mute to the world. Except when his friends came along and took back his attention from it. He was so clueless, she always thought. Part of it was what made her always want to watch him in his oblivion, playing hide and seek with herself, getting off from the adrenaline she felt from thinking of getting caught by those deep eyes. Only he hasn't, not until now.

She had been frozen in her seat, completely dumbstrucked and engulfed when those eyes suddenly stared back at her. She was so deep into looking him drawing one of her many favorite sketches of his, when he decided to looked away to her direction to cough a bit.

And then their eyes met for the first time. He, just out of coincidence. And her, feeling like a deer caught in the act.

She was even sure she drained out her color right then and there, suddenly looking black and blue like a weird girl in the brink of passing out to his eyes.

Knock, knock.

"Are you sick?"

She could still be able to read the word from the movement of his mouth. He suddenly looked concerned by now.

She was such a fool making a fool out of herself, just like the fool she was.

When she finally got her conciousness back, she faintly shook her head and replied, mouthing a 'No'.

Again his mouth moved in sync with the words, "Are you sure?"

She smiled sheepishly then knocked the glass right on his face.

Knock knock.

Next thing she knew he was back to his own world, drawing out another masterpiece.

She always was the weirder one.

The next morning, she found him walking into the studio again, early, into his self-proclaimed seat next to her.

She found it was weird that he seemed like he didn't acknowledge her. Or that their ever-so-awkward staring session last week didn't even happened.

She was actually so relieved that he chose to ignore her, she could finally be back to her old-habit, staring into his sketching an imaginary bridge.

Knock knock.

She didn't realized she knocked two-times on the glass out of reflex. What's happening to her?

As she expected, he unfortunately looked up and their eyes once again met.

There were questions in his eyes, wondering if she really meant to call him or just doing it randomly.

She smiled sheepishly again, and knocked again two times, right at where his face was.

Just like she expected he would, he turned away and back to his drawing.

And just like that, she continued to watch him did everything he did, with no intent of stopping.

The next week, she found him already seated at his usual place, at the time doing nothing and just staring off, almost looking like he was waiting for something. She found it weird but she shook it off, anything on his mind couldn't be anything to do with her anyways so why getting so caught up?