three am.

him

He couldn't stop thinking of her. He tried, but he absolutely could not do it. To take his mind off of her, he devoted himself on doing the football team's projects, or reading a book or two in his spare time - but still she was the sole object of his mind.

His memory was not the best; he couldn't recall the name of the book he read last week, or the color of his mom's shirt yesterday. But he definitely remembered her and everything about her. He remembered her eyes that lit up every time she talked excitedly, about everything. He remembered her hand on his when sympathy took the better of her. He remembered how straight-forward she was when she talked, as if she never knew how secrets worked. He remembered her every move.

But he did not remember the length of her hair, nor the color of her clothes. He did not recall the shape of her eyes or the curve of her lips. It was all about the words she spoke, and the way she moved. The way her lips danced as she poured out her soul. Or the way her hands were everywhere when she narrated story after story. But her features? He couldn't really remember. He thought that at least he'd remember one good feature of hers. But he did not at all. And he sort of liked it that way. He felt it made her more special from the girls that walked the hallways of school who he noticed because of their short skirts or bright eyes. The girls he sometimes would glance at in Starbucks because he liked the arch of their eyebrows or how their clothes fitted. He didn't feel the same physical pull for her.

He was amused when he realized it; he wasn't physically attracted to her. There was no physical attraction at all. He thought for a moment as to why. He was a boy; the normal kind who checked out girls as often as they come. Girls he didn't know or he just happened to pass by on the street. Their stand-out features were the ones he always noticed because, well, they stood out. Was the lack of physical attraction because she didn't have a stand-out feature? Impossible, he thought. He felt she was too ordinary in a special way not to have one. So he thought, and thought about it.

And just like that, the reason came to him. Why should he care about her surface, he thought, if he already knew what was inside? He wasn't compelled to see if her nose was like a button or a witch's, or if her eyes would dazzle him with their unusual color. He didn't care about those things when it came to her because he already knew what was beneath that face, that long or short hair. He liked it that way.

In fact, he was liking a lot of things about her and him. He liked the fact that his three am's wouldn't be lonely anymore, and would be spent with her. He liked the ease between them even if the situation would normally be awkward. He liked that she seemed to be so ordinary and so special at the same time, and that she made him feel the same way when they were together. He simply liked him and her, even though him and her meant nothing much yet.

Just him and just her. And he didn't tire to think about him and her and three am that Saturday.