No Place Like Home

Have We Met?

Seamus

 Every morning, Seamus Gorman walked to the coffee shop just down the street from his apartment for a bagel. He didn't drink coffee, but they did make exceptional iced tea. Every morning, on his way to the coffee shop, Seamus glanced through the windows of the London School of Art and smiled. He wasn't exactly sure why he smiled, except that he did, and he thought it might, just might, have something to do with the pretty girl with blue eyes and strawberry-blonde hair sitting on the other side of the window, eyes closed, swaying slightly to some tune only she seemed to hear. And every morning, Seamus slowed his pace slightly, fascinated, to admire her beautiful artwork, he told himself, though he found himself watching the girl more than her art. And every morning, on his way back from the coffee shop, Seamus would pass by the windows again and repeat the pattern. Seamus looked forward to these mornings far more than he wished to admit, and they always left him smiling a large, goofy grin long after he had passed.

But it was not every morning that Seamus saw the girl sitting with her back to the window, eyes closed, swaying slightly to some tune only she could hear, and drawing a face the Seamus found he recognized. Seamus stopped dead and stared through the window at the previously blank piece of paper on which was rapidly appearing... his face?

Somehow, this girl who Seamus had watched every day but who had never noticed him, this girl knew him. Knew him well enough to draw him with her eyes closed.

Seamus didn't know how long he stood there watching the girl, but eventually she finished and started walking around the classroom commenting on her students' work. Suddenly, he realized how stupid he must look, standing in front of the window watching the class. She wasn't even drawing anymore. Not wanting to be caught, Seamus turned and walked quickly back the way he'd come, self consciously not looking through the windows, not noticing when the girl glanced up and saw his retreating form, a stranger, she was certain, yet oddly familiar. As if she had met the boy before, or had perhaps been looking for him.

Seamus was so busy thinking about the girl and how she knew him, that he didn't realize he had forgotten to go to the coffee shop until he had reached his apartment once again. Seamus supposed the girl must know him from YouTube, but whether that was a good or bad thing, he wasn't sure. In the end he decided it must be a good thing, because if she knew him well enough to draw him with her eyes closed, she probably liked him. He suddenly wondered if he'd ever talked to her before. Responded to a comment, perhaps. It was entirely possible. He didn't even know her name. So imagine Seamus's surprise when he received a notification from Instagram informing him that he had been tagged in a photo by someone called 'Ashdoesart'. A photo that was, in fact, a beautifully drawn charcoal portrait of him. Ash. That was the girl's name. Ash.

Seamus stared at the portrait on his screen for a long time before finally stealing himself to DM the girl - Ash - a single question. "Have we met?"