Thunder

The first time I saw you, you were wearing violet eye contacts. Nature was celebrating the first day of summer by having a thunderstorm.

You were leaving the bookstore, tightening your trench coat as you got ready to go outside. I was looking for a place to shelter myself. And believe me, the bookstore wouldn't be my first choice. I only got to see a wisp of your dark hair. You were in a hurry, and I didn't get to see anything else, except your smile. For the rest of the day, it was stuck in my mind.

It was the sort of smile someone would carelessly throw. You looked like you were remembering something happy. I haven't seen something as bright and joyful since I was young. I had to see it again.

I'd visit that bookstore everyday ever for the rest of my summer. I visited so often that even the manager got tired of scolding me. I would pick up a random book from a shelf, something I haven't done for years, and buy it. Then I'd pick a spot between two bookshelves, sit down, and wait there, reading and hiding, until you'd finally come.

Sometimes you'd come, more often you won't. It seemed that the staff was really fond of you. Every time they hear the tinkling of the door, a signal that there was a new customer, they'd look up. I'd see their faces fall once they realized it wasn't you. And when you came, you never forgot to greet them and smile that beautiful smile.

Your voice sounded like bells. They were gentle, and brought a certain kind of happiness that would uplift anyone with a sour mood. Every time I saw you open your mouth, I would strain just to hear your voice. Let me tell you, it always brought a smile to my face.

One time, I managed to sit across you, on a small reading table put up for those who have spare time. You were reading an interesting book, your eyes following the direction of the word. "The eyes are the windows of the soul" is true. Your eyes would look determined when you were in suspense, watery when you felt pity or remorse, and they'd light up when you were happy.

You would stop reading abruptly, and I wondered if you were hurt. You'd close the book, look away, and gently remove something from your eye. Later did I realize that you removed your contacts, and that cold attention-getting violet eyes would turn into a warm hazel hue. It suits you, you know. You didn't need contacts to attract attention.

At half past five, you would put down the book you were reading and put it in your small yellow backpack. You'd put your contacts back and tie your dark, wavy hair in a ponytail. Then, as if you sensed my eyes were in your direction, you'd look up. I'd quickly hide behind my book, and you'd carry on as if nothing happened.

Then one day, you didn't come. I could see by the fall of the cashier's face when she saw me. She looked at the small box of chocolates I was holding, and gave me a pointed stare. It was the day I decided to introduce myself. It was a week before school would be back, and I wanted to show that even though a lot of girls would kill to date me, I only had interests for you. I waited until the bookstore closed, everyday, until the first day of school. But you never came back.

I heard some girls talk about you in between lockers, and I inconspicuously listened in. You had a flight to London last week, and you'd stay there until you finished college. My shoulders drooped.

I guess I couldn't give you that book collection that you really wanted anymore. I took out the chocolates I bought for you from my pocket and threw it in the trash. Funny. They said the most popular guy in school can get any girl he wants, as long as he made his move. And maybe I didn't want you to look at me like that. Maybe I just wanted to be somebody normal, for a change.

Nature decided to greet the last day of summer with a thunderstorm.