I always liked the way he smelt.
Like musk, and pine trees.
Like logs in a fire and wood cabins.
Like masculinity and evergreen forests.
I've only smelt him a few times. When we accidentally bumped in the hallway, or when he picked up my dropped art assignment. Or the time we both went for the door handle after class.
I always got a breeze of Him, his unique sandalwood smell.
I didn't know his name. I knew it began with an M. Or N. Truthfully, I could ask someone. They would probably know, or I could just check the year book.
But that would be admitting that I was interested. That I was intrigued. That I had developed an unhealthy obsession with the boy who's name started with a M or N. That I had watched him as he pulled out his headphones and sighed wearily. That my heart had stuttered when he looked at me.
If I were brave, I would ask for his name and greet him. If I were brave, I would show him the sketches in my notebook I had scrawled whenever he had looked at me. If I were brave, I would ask him if he liked coffee and taken him to the new cafe in town.
But I wasn't brave.
I was just Wanda.
I was just Wanda who loved a boy who's name started with M or N.
YOU ARE READING
Impact
Short StoryH e was M i c h a e l . S h e was W a n d a . T h e y were I n L o v e . But they were d o o m e d as well. This was not their love story, but their t r a g e d y. This was the story of how Wanda met Michael and the chaos that ensured.
