the journal - h.s.

17

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. It lasted for half a second - but it had been there and somehow managed to give me confidence. There was a person hiding behind that cold facade. I could ease the grip of the book in my hand and give him a hardened glance in return with this new realization.

If I could have escaped his eyes I would have taken the opportunity of having him this close to take in his perfect features. Studied them in awe. How his jaw clenched created the sharp jawline, how the shape of his lower lip seemed ideal. I would take in every inch of his godlike face and make sure never to forget it again. Never to let it become merely a blurry image again.

To my surprise he didn’t answer my bold question immediately. Maybe it wasn’t often that people would actually managed to speak when he looked at them like this. To be honest I wasn’t sure how I was even talking as I honestly was dead embarrassed. I felt guilty to the pitch of my stomach. In every cell of my body. But how could he know, that I eventually had read in this - in his journal with other intentions than finding him? How could he possibly know that I had not been intending to find him every second, that my eyes had glanced over the pages? He couldn’t. Therefore it was a lie, which he could never prove out to be one.

He took a step to the side and casually seated on the bed, his unexpected movement managed to completely catch me off guard. Making me simply stare down at him for a moment, as he sat there looking out into the room thoughtfully with his fingers creating a triangle as the fingertips rested near his lips.

Not having him towering over me anymore changed the atmosphere. Now I was the one towering over him. Or as much as one could tower over a seated person, who was way taller than you. Breathing normally again I held the journal loosely down the side of my thigh, feeling the distant presence of the wave of tiredness throughout my body. I reckoned it was about 1 am. The level of adreanaline slowly decreasing in my system with every passing second.

My eyes rested on his face. As the green eyes no longer held me in place I could investigate his perfectly harmonized features. How that furrow between his brows were still silently telling me something was bothering him. And not just the fact that he had just caught a total stranger in his room with her nose in what was probably the most private part of his life. No there was something else. I had actually forgotten my urge to smooth out his tensed and troubled features, which I had felt the need to do in the bus. But now as I watched how his broad shoulders were hanging in a defeatist manner, his every exhale seeming as a sigh, how he had given up on our little staring contest.

I wanted to make him smile. Make him forget about whatever was haunting his beautiful mind, whatever was shadowing the bright person from the pages. The person who I had… even grown to care for I realised.

Having to look away my eyes travelled to his window, which I had been standing with my back against till now. I could just make out the glimpse of a red colored light - probably from the traffic light in the street - I watched how it was reflected in the raindrops on the glass and realized the light were not on in here. My eyes had grown used to the darkness and the bright red light was enough to lit the room up. Blending in with the white gleam from the street lamp the room stayed bathed in the ghostly light making the whole episode even more surreal.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed out followed by a sigh as he continued, “and yeah. I am Harry.”

My eyes didn’t leave the beautiful sight of glittering red raindrops on the pane, as his words shattered the silence to pieces. The sound suddenly softer, less frustrated but still clearly controlled and managing to make my heart skip a beat. Slowly dragging my eyes from one beautiful sight to another I looked down at him. His eyes were closed and he had leaned back laying on the bed, which made the white t-shirt stretch out over his torso. I could only just make out the shape of his muscles against the fabric as the light had difficulties reaching him there on the bed. His feet were still placed on the floor, as he was far too tall to lay sideways on the bed, which meant his legs were hanging over the edge. His one hand was behind his head, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

I carefully seated on the edge of the bed not that it was a deliberate act though. But those damn words just kept echoing almost painfully through my entire being. Echoing from the deep of my heart and mind, as a broken whisper for which I had once opened my heart and dared listen to; don’t let me go.

“I’m glad I found you.”

The words escaped my lips as a whisper. But I knew he heard them perfectly clear, as I from the corner of my eyes could see him move his hand from holding the bridge of his nose. His eyes opening in the process and looking at me, while I kept my gaze on my hands and the item in them.

I knew those words meant more than I had planned them to. But I couldn’t help myself, as I thought about all the questions I had for him. The quote with those dates. What did they mean? Was he a musician? Had he ever gotten to watch the titles of those movies he had scribbled down? Was he going to? What had he thought of them? What was he doing in Chicago? What had been in Washington DC to keep him there for at least over half a year? What. When. Where. Why. Who.

The only problem remaining - which was formed out as this massive wall of silence between us - was the following; that to Harry I was still merely a stranger. A stranger from a bus drive. I was just one insignificance person out of seven billion other strangers, whom he shared the world with. A stranger who had without permission read his journal. Had investigated his mind. But that sole fact did not imply him including me in his own little world. If anything it probably gave him a reason to make me stay far, far away.

If only I could read what was going on behind those mysterious, pretty, green eyes.

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