The Stranger of Hyde Park

I was lying on the grass of Hyde Park, my back pressed against my bag full of useless stuff, with a notepad resting on my knees. I scratched my head with my pen, trying to find a nice verse for the poem I was writing. A soft breeze blew through my hair, and I closed my eyes; the wind, like a perfume spray, brought all the most pleasant scents of the park to me, such as the perfume of flowers, this of warm chocolate waffles, and this of mint growing near the bush behind my back.

As I got used to this delicious mix of scents, a new one came up to me, dominating all the others. It was a very strong fragrance, sweet and very masculine at the same time. I couldn't really tell what it was composed of, but I knew that if poetry had a scent, it would be this one.

I opened my eyes very slowly, as if I was afraid of being unable to smell this perfume again. Hyde Park was spreading before me, with its lovely green grass, its groups of children and teens, its elderly people having a walk in groups or alone, and the man we all called 'Waffleman', for he usually settled there to cook waffles and sell them for very low prices. I looked around me, trying to guess where the wonderful scent came from, but I saw nothing, until I instinctively turned my head to the right, as I heard somebody coughing.

A few metres away from me was a boy about my age, holding a book, whose title I couldn't read. He was lying on his right elbow, facing the park, with an old bag next to him. He had very long and thin legs, one bent, and the other spreading before him. He was wearing black velvet bell-bottoms despite this sunny day, black and white shoes and a dark purple flowery shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A short black necklace was tied around his neck, and it looked so tight, that I thought that it would strangle him. When my eyes went up to his head, they got caught by a mass of golden curly locks.

The boy moved and pulled his hair out of his face, briefly closing his eyelids. Finally, I could see what he looked like. His lips were thin, and I didn't know if he actually was grinning, since he looked like he constantly was. As his lips moved, cute little dimples appeared on his soft cheeks. His nose was straight, not too long, not too short, and not very large. I couldn't see the colour of his eyes, but I immediately guessed that they were pretty.

Strangely, the boy looked familiar to me, and I felt frustration growing in my chest, as I couldn't remember where I could have met him, or when.

He ran a delicate hand through his hair to scratch his scalp, and I noticed that he was wearing a silver ring and a large silver bracelet. As his curls jumped, stroking his neck, the scent I smelled earlier took hold of my nose again. It definitely was him.

I didn't realise I kept staring at him until his eyes met mine. I could eventually see them: blue was their colour. He looked surprised for less than a second, before smiling widely at me, forming dimples on his cheeks again.

"Hi" he said, loud enough for me to hear, in an accent which must come from the middle of England. "Would you like to sit with me?"

My cheeks felt like they suddenly burst into flames. Although I knew he was talking to me, I looked all around me as innocently as I could. "M-Me?" I stuttered shyly, not really knowing what to say.

He chuckled adorably, and nodded. "Yes, you. I love meeting new people randomly." I smiled lightly and did not find anything else to answer than "I do too." He smiled again, before lifting up his bag, which actually was full of books, putting it on the other side of his spot. Then, he patted the free space next to him. "So why don't you have a seat? I don't bite and I'm not a psychopath."

Not really knowing what I was doing and not really caring about who this guy actually was, I gathered my stuff and stood up, walking the two or three metres that separated us. He helped me sit next to him, stretching out his hand for me to take, so I could hold myself to it. I blushed heavily as our thighs lightly touched. He quickly closed the book he was reading, wedging a bookmark between the two pages he was at, and putting it into his bag.