Took It Slow (Didn't Take It Easy)

Intro

He's there again.

Trying not to look, I carefully pull out the chair from under the table, taking great care not to drag it across the floor. Around me the library is quiet and peaceful, the only thing you can really hear being the white noise hum of the air-conditioning units. Though it isn't quite exam week, the top floor of the library is full nearly to the brim: across my own table, pharmacy majors are aggressively highlighting their textbooks and murmuring chemical formulas under their breath. The med lab science major beside my table is napping on a stack of lab manuals, a very slight trail of drool seeping out of the corner of their mouth. Everything seems pretty okay.

The library had become a haven of sorts for me ever since the semester started: as an irregular student, my schedule was fucked right from the beginning and I often found myself wandering aimlessly for hours on end waiting for my next class. It was the price I had to pay for switching programs in the middle of the school year, but I was adamant that it would pay off. My expectations haven't let me down so far, so I'm taking that as a good omen.

My friend, Quinta, is also an irregular student, so we almost never get to see each other. Her schedule is as equally fucked-up as mine, so it was up to me to decide how to fill in the blanks between my classes. Of course, I chose to spend it doing the only thing I really cared about: drawing.

Art's always been my refuge. It's an outlet for everything that I feel (considering that I'm a highly emotional person, that's a lot of feelings), and it's become a sort of cathartic activity for me to do. Whether if it's just a tiny doodle in the corner of my sketchbook, or a full blown watercolour portrait on quality paper, my art has always meant something to me, even if I don't really express that to people sometimes. It's for you to guess and for me to internalise. Being able to have time in a day for me to draw has become a highlight of my semester, and it allows me to unwind between exhausting, mind-numbingly boring classes.

Today is not an exception: I've just run out of a Religious Studies class, and I am more than happy to spend it in the confines of the library to draw, but there's just one thing: that guy is there again. It's always the same guy I keep seeing around: he looks Korean but I'm not sure, with gently sloping eyes, a soft, rectangular face, triangular eyebrows, and a strong nose, as well as a slightly slicked-back hairstyle that somehow manages to conform to the college's strict haircut policy (ah, the joys of Catholic school) and a soft, medium build. He's also really cute. I feel like an absolute creeper whenever my eyes drift over to him, but I can't help it: he's pretty eye-catching.

I internally sigh and yank my earphones out of my bag, sneaking another glance at him. He's alone this time, his own earphones snug inside his ears and nose buried in a thick textbook. He's studious, too? Be still my heart. I'm unable to stifle my tiny smile, and proceed to unpack my pencil case. Fine liner, mechanical pencil, eraser, pen eraser, brush pen. Time to get to work.

Soon I lose myself in lines and swirls, the dulcet tones of Sara Bareilles serenading me as I fill the page carefully. A young, contemplative face pokes itself out of my paper after a while: eyes half-lidded and turned just to the side, freckles plentiful and dark, and hair perfectly bushy, she looks beautiful, but also kind of distant. Knowing that she's almost done, I change the song and look up. Some of the people around me have left, presumably off to their classes, but he's still there reading his book. Hm.

I'm still glancing at him when he blinks rapidly and looks up, meeting me dead in the eye. Shit. Flustered, I drag my eyes back down to my paper and try to erase a completely unnecessary thing. Dammit. Way to go, idiot. Now he's seen you, and now he totally thinks you're a creeper. 

Then, wonder of wonders, my phone goes off and vibrates, startling me out of my awkwardness-induced haze. I pick it up. Quinta Santos, the phone flashes cheerily, the caller's picture beaming up at me. I slide the phone unlocked and take the call.

"Hey, what's up? Class over already?" I ask quietly, fiddling with the volume controls. "Or is class cancelled?"

"Cancelled," Quinta's voice sings out. "Come on, let's go out. I've been dying to get an ice cream the whole day, haven't you felt the heat?"

I grin and start to pack up my things. "I wouldn't know, I've been inside the library the whole afternoon."

"Again? Really? It's a good way to save money, but unless you're sleeping..."

"You know I draw, right?" I cluck, shoving my sketchbook and pencil case back into my purse. "It's actually pretty fun. You should try it."

"No thanks, all artistic endeavours between the two of us are definitely up to you. Are you on your way?"

I stand up and glide the chair under the table. "Yep. Give me ten minutes. I'll meet you by the gate?"

"Sure. See you in a bit." Quinta hangs up, and I pad out of the study area, completely forgetting about Cute Korean Guy.