The girls from my imagination

I sharpened my pencil for once.

(Before this chapter starts, I'd like to tell you, no matter who you are, thank you for clicking on this story. It really means the world to me. This is the first time I write something outside of school and also the first time I publish a story for the world to see. I sincerely hope it'll be somewhat enjoyable to you all.)

I'd never been an outgoer. Mostly an onlooker, gazing at people's faces and analyzing their structure; the way brows casted shadows over glistening eyes before connecting to slim noses over thin lips, the whole thing attached to some grotesque variation of a body. Those were the images I'd capture and recreate quickly with a few strokes of a dull pencil then move on.

But then, I sharpened my pencil for
once.

When I first saw her, I found her average and boring, but something attracted me to her. Secretly, she was different, interesting. Unlike the other busy persons of this park, she seemed to understand my eyes were watching her. She'd pose, immobile and emotionless, until the last line was drawn. Then she'd disappear without a trace.

Every each morning.

Drawings of her ripped from my book created a pile upon my desk. As it grew, so did my obsession with her. A full July passed and, without even speaking a word to her, I felt happier recreating her for the 30th time than I'd ever been in my life. It seemed wonderful to have such a peculiar connection with a stranger, and I rightfully took pride in it.

But she didn't show up on the 1st of
August.

Nor on the 2nd.

Or the 3rd.

My worry was then bigger than my mount of sketches, and I began accepting the fact that death had come to get her. So, on the 10th of August, I woke up and got dressed.

As usual.

I morosely made my way to the park and sat down on my bench.

As usual.

I opened up my notepad and shot her a glance.

As usual.

But wait, there she was. On her throne. Except, she wasn't posing. In fact, she sat down straight, looking dead into my eyes. For the first time, I lowered my pencil and paper. Several moments passed in this strangely comfortable and releaving silence. Then she smiled. The most luminous and genuine smile any living thing could ever muster. Hypnotized, I slowly got up and joined her on the wooden seat she'd claimed as hers. She took my hand and, in a soft yet clear voice, she said:

"I'm Ada. And you?"

"Cara."

As she kept her fingers intertwined with mine, I knew.

What did I know? I had no idea.

But I just knew.