hiraeth - homesickness to a home you can't return to, or that never was.
Arnold was running late to school, yet again. It wasn't his fault, really. His eyes stayed glued shut on mornings like these when the bed felt so inviting and the duvet, so soft. And also, when he dreamed of Amelia Wellington.
Amelia. Amelia, Amelia, Amelia. That seemed to be his only thought for quite a few days now. Not two months, not three, but one whole year. It was as if she had done some kind of black magic on him. He just couldn't think of anyone—anything else but Amelia.
Don't get him wrong, though. He didn't love her, that's not why she was on his mind. The thing is, she intrigued him. So much.
Arnold was just in time for his first class. He made his way to his usual seat at the back of the class, just behind Amelia. Always one of the firsts to make it to class, she already occupied her seat looking down at her lap, seemingly reading a book before class started. Arnold had often noticed her reading a book, before class, even during class—somehow staying out of the prying eyes of the teacher in the front. Today too, was no different. But as soon as the teacher entered the class, she shut her book suddenly, appearing as if she was waiting for the class to start eagerly.
Amelia wasn't pretty. She didn't have the features that she could happily boast about with her friends. She didn't have many friends even, for that matter. Her eyes were black, or perhaps, the darkest shade of brown. He didn't know, for she rarely meet anyone's eyes, not to mention, his. Her nose was small, but not too small—perhaps, the perfect size. She had acne-prone skin, perhaps that was why she was sporting a new red blemish near the corner of her mouth. And her lips—her lips were red. They were plump, but when she smiled—when she so rarely did smile—they spread out into two thin lines, exposing her white teeth.
That was what intrigued him the most—her smile. He wouldn't say she had the most perfect smile ever. But still, it was enchanting, the way she smiled. She never really fully smiled, though. A part of her lips lifted upward, much like a smirk, but not really. He still remembered the day—or rather, the night—he had gone out to get ice-cream for his little brother. How he'd seen her, purely by chance, scouring the streets, running her hands over the graffiti that said 'carpe diem'. That was the first time he'd seen her smile—granted, a woeful kind, but a smile nevertheless.
Amelia had black hair, almost always tied up. Her hair wasn't smooth or shiny, but the way little strands of her hair seemed to trace the edges of her face made him wish he was one of those wild fringes of her hair. Maybe then, he'd get to touch her face lightly, as she brushed them away with a swift movement of her fingers.
Amelia didn't dress extravagantly. She didn't like being in photos. He remembered how awkwardly she stood for their class photo during a school trip. Like she didn't know what to do, didn't know where to look. In fact, she seemed to look everywhere except at the camera, as if deliberately avoiding it. She looked like she was genuinely curious as to why on earth would anyone want to be in the same picture as her. Why they didn't just leave her out? Her eyes flitted across everywhere, as if—as if in search of her book, in search of something she could finally find her solace in.
And boy, did Arnold feel something break inside of him. Amelia didn't seen to notice, though. She rarely ever noticed anything.
He remembered the time when he was made to read aloud a lesson in Mr. Hamilton's class and how he'd misread 'ash' for 'ass'. He remembered how the whole class erupted into laughter, but what he remembered the most vividly was her laugh. He watched her eyes crinkle and her mouth spread into a wide grin as her laughter died down, while still giggling softly. She saw her shake her head lightly as she resumed reading the book she always had in her lap. And Arnold had to try his hardest to bring his shallow, erratic breathing to normal. He couldn't fathom, how the girl he'd rarely ever seen smile—laughed today. And the tiny little fact that it was because of him, set fireworks in his chest.
It was a puzzle to him, really. How could someone so quiet, someone so inside-their-own-head, someone who never spoke, never expressed—have such an effect on him? It was one of the questions that pestered him to no ends.
Arnold spent the whole class gazing at her from the seat behind hers, as she had her head dug into the book she so obviously enjoyed. She wasn't pretty, wasn't graceful or elegant or poised or extra-ordinary—stuff that most girls would take pride in being. But it was the most non-sensical thing to Arnold that she couldn't grasp the fact that it was okay. It was okay to not stand out in the crowd at all times. It was okay to not be pretty.
After all, Arnold could not, in his dreams, reduce Amelia to just pretty. She was beautiful. Downright breathtaking—and that, not despite her flaws, but because of them.
And oh, what Arnold wouldn't do to make Amelia realize that.
