It All Started with a Book

page 3 | awkward silences

With my knees propped up, I practically buried my face within the laptop guide. I wasn't used to compliments – if that could even be considered one, and I was clueless on how to react. I stayed silent, hoping the boy across me wouldn't notice my strange demeanor.

"You okay?"

My head snapped up, seeing that he was regarding me with a concerned look. I answered with a curt nod. "I'm fine." I continued reading the manual.

A short while later, I pulled down the left sleeve of my purple jacket to check the time on my watch. The ticking hand representing the seconds reminded me I had to get home. I thought about telling the boy in front of me that I had to leave.

Then I stilled. I didn't have to tell him, did I? But I'd seem rude and inconsiderate if I just abruptly left. While looking at the person leaning against the other shelf, I also realized that I didn't know his name. And he didn't know mine. I kept referring to him as 'the boy', it kind of slipped my mind to even ask his name. Maybe he also referred to me as 'the girl'.

And I couldn't call him 'the boy' forever.

I closed my book, I couldn't waste any more time just thinking. I stood up, dusted the back of my jeans and said, "Hey, um, I kind of need to go. Thanks for keeping the book for me."

He suddenly looked up from the teen fiction book he was reading. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah – it's getting a bit late in the afternoon. I have to be home before 5 o' clock."

He nodded, also standing up. "I'll walk you out."

My eyes widened. He didn't have to. There'd just be awkward silence along the way, and that was one of the things I frequently avoided. I tried to decline, but he replied with, "It'd be ungentlemanly of me to let you escort yourself out on your own. Let me just return these books. Besides, I have to get home as well."

And I didn't get to say anything in return. He just picked up his small stack of books, taking mine from my grasp as well, and returned them to where they originally were. After a minute, he arrived with his hands in his pockets. "Shall we?" he asked with a smile.

I was to stunned at his kind gesture. I simply followed him out of the library. After exiting through the automatic glass doors, we were met with the humid air of summer. I had no idea how to start a conversation, and I felt uncomfortable with small talk. So, I remained silent.

He did as well.

We were walking down a pavement towards the subdivision where I lived. The houses were adequately spaced, and I liked the way that almost every house had a tree in their backyard.

I spoke out of the blue. "Aren't you supposed to be getting home?" I didn't tell him about my address; neither did he. I hoped he wasn't a mind reader.

His brown hair glinted in the sunlight as he turned to reply to me. "This is my way home. How about you? I was expecting you to take a turn when we exited the library."

I sputtered, "Y-your way home?" I didn't expect that. I wasn't expecting anything at all.

"Yeah. I guess your way home is this as well." He simply answered.

I hummed softly, deep in thought. There was a possibility that we were neighbors. I hoped that possibility was low. We came to a curve on the pavement. I turned my direction to the right, but he didn't. He just kept walking straight on.

There weren't any excuses, no goodbyes, just simply the action of leaving. I wasn't sure how to respond when parting ways with someone. I never was.

I didn't turn back, and I didn't wave goodbye. I didn't feel any obligation to actually announce I was leaving, since we were bound to meet at the library again. I focused my sight in front of me until I made it to the front yard of my home.

I was at the doorstep when a thought flashed through my mind.

Maybe I should've waved goodbye.

A slight click resounded from the knob as I pushed the door open.

And I wondered if he did.