askuroppa

Visit

It's 3 A.M and I'm still in the library studying for finals and I'm losing my grip on reality and I think I just saw a ghost. It's not as dark as you imagine; if you switch the light in the librarian's room, nobody will notice that the place is bright enough to look around for your ways hence I have my eyes squinting, trying to focus on any movement by the third shelf where I noticed a shadow. As nothing shows up after a good four minutes, I just guess it was just my feeling—and my rebelling self that demands me to drop everything now and prepare for the actual nightmare that is failing the exams.

I take a good swot of some topics of some subjects, and when I accidentally look at my watch, I realise that it's already 4:37, a little almost to dawn. The school's going to start soon, and I need to pack it up and leave before the guard catches me snooping inside the building.

The estimate time to reach my home from this place is also longer than it usually takes, since I came back around six hours ago by the bicycle I borrowed from the next-door neighbour another six hours earlier. That way, my parents thought I wasn't going to do something stupid – which I didn't – and bring shame upon them, because the neighbour did interrogate me about a couple of things.

Whilst I slip everything on the table into my wide–opened bag, it feels like someone is intensely watching me, and their stare is piercing through my physique. You know this feeling: you often get this vibe when you think you're alone and safe—but you aren't.

I turn around and cast my eyes directly to the third shelf again.

Nothing.

I sigh. I'm already too tired to start assuming things for now. I drop my hands to my sides and lower my head, trying to shake unnecessary thoughts off of my mind. I then elevate my head just to come face to face with a boy in my school's school uniform, or at least that's what I recognise from his badge, and the matter of fact that he's in my school's building . . .

'Hi.'

He gives me a small smile, and I can't just reject him by screaming in his face of what a git he is for scaring me like he did a second ago. So I give him a knowing nod and start throwing down my things again.

I'm done with sealing my bag, and he stays there, standing in front of me.

'Can I help you?'

'I just want to talk,' he says, 'a quick chat.' I want to reject his offer, but he furthers, taking a seat, 'I see that you were studying.' I nod, my foot tapping to the floor quietly. 'Good luck,' he wishes. 'Just don't stress yourself over the papers.'

'Tha—'

'I know the answers.'

I blink. And blink. And blink again.

'How?'

'Somehow,' he says, shrugging.

I finally draw my chair back and take a seat, now interested. 'Can you give me some hints?'

'If you spare some minutes to talk to me,' he offers. But he looks sad even before I decide. 'I'm really lonely. My friends had left me long ago . . .'

'Oh, that's why I didn't see anyone else,' I hastily conclude, 'and keep sensing that someone else was here with me.'

'Sorry,' he meekly says. 'I didn't want to scare you.'

'What's your name? I've never seen you before? Which class are you in? What year?'

'It's Ming Hao.' He eventually grins at my many questions. 'I've seen you a lot of times before, but you kept overlooking me. I'm thankful that you finally perceive me tonight.'

'Sorry,' I titter, 'I'm heedless sometimes.' He only grins wider at my excuse. 'Well . . . what do you want to talk about, Ming Hao?' And then it hits me. 'Aren't you the one who kept peering back when I lay my eyes on my . . . friend?' I don't think it's safe to tell him if the latter is someone I've liked for quite some time now.

'Oh, that's my friend, too. He was using my umbrella, and I was checking if you were really looking at me . . .' his voice trails off, and he looks upset at the confirmation that he is, indeed, wrong since I keep myself quiet. After a moment, he picks up, '. . . I thought you don't remember me . . . or even see me!' He beams at his own doubts.

'Well I remember you now!'

And then I uncomfortably laugh, and he looks at me awkwardly. 'Actually I don't know the answers to your papers . . .' and I almost screech right then and there. 'Please don't be mad,' he says, beating me to it. 'Sorry to keep you this long when you should've been at least halfway home now, too.'

I choose to give it up. I can now leave for good, anyway. 'Aren't you going to go home, as well?'

'I am,' he simply says.

'Uh,' I stand, pushing my chair in its place, 'will I see you again?' just to be nice.

'I don't think so.' He heavily sighs that it almost sounds like he's in remorse. 'I'm just here for a quick visit.'

'Ah,' I dismiss him. 'Then I'll see you at recess, then.' I don't actually get what he meant by 'a quick visit', but I need to go home quicker. My mum will kill me if she finds out I'm missing out of bed (supposedly I was in it nine hours ago).

He also stands, holding out his hand that he dejectedly keeps to himself again since I don't respond, because that's when I remember I didn't offer him my own name after he did. 'That's okay,' he says, as though my mind is readable. 'It's better if I only remember your face.'

'O . . . kay?'

'Good–bye.'

Seemingly he waits for me to leave first, so I go along with the act, biding him back. 'Good–bye, Ming Hao,' I say. And then I exit the place, making sure to close the door properly so he wouldn't get caught—and somehow it feels like it's the only thing I can do for him.

Ming Hao stares at the door where he last sees her form, his eyes dilating with contentment from his worthy effort and pain from the hundredth flashbacks of how she jumped off of the floor then immediately hit the ground. 'I'll miss you,' he whispers.