𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈

𝑜𝑛𝑒

Atlas was the moon. Some days, she was but a sliver in the dark, but other times she glowed with an undeniable beauty that took up the sky. She was constantly surrounded by stars, but none could outshine her. She was a presence that philosophers wrote poetry of, that novelists dreamed up stories for. Captivating—in a word, she was captivating.

It wasn't surprising I was drawn to her like everyone else. She was beautiful, sure, but there was something that felt familiar about her. Being around Atlas was comfortable. People liked that about her.

It was a weird phenomenon to watch how others act when she was around. It felt natural to say what you'd think she wanted to hear, to let her steer the conversation, to listen intently of what she had to say, to pick up on her mood and emotions, and to disperse when you felt she became uninterested. Atlas was the center stage, the control tower, the heart of the group.

I don't think people even realize the small changes they make in themselves around her. The purposeful look they cast her way after saying something as if waiting for her validation, or how their voices lower to adjust to Atlas's softer tone. These changes seem so obvious but so expected that no one really notices. In the beginning, I didn't either. It was only when he came along that I understood.

I've always been just a bit sensitive to things like that. How a person speaks, the looks they give. Being awkward myself, I'm always conscious of how I act and consequently how people react to me.

He was like that too. Even though he was handsome in his own right, charming and decent, he had a similar desperation to be liked. I felt from him the same type of insecurity I held inside. Only, he was better at masking it. Perhaps it was the experience. He was well into his thirties, nearing his forties, and knew a lot about people. Individually sure, as a teacher he was privy to openly observe his students. But he knew of human behavior in a general sense. He could just about deduce what anyone would say or how they would feel. He became good at saying the right things at the right time.

I could tell he was always a bit unnerved around me. I guess he could read me like I him, so he tended to avoid me. It was all the same to me, I wasn't as adept in speaking as he was, so I usually stayed quiet. I never cared for making new friends—upholding a good impression was exhausting and I had a few good people to keep me company. I was uninterested in the ritual of graduating from acquaintances to friends with people that could eventually disappoint me.

At least, this was until I met her. Atlas was the first person I couldn't understand. I could never tell what she was thinking, and that was apart of her allure. It was like the dark side of the moon—it remained an absolute mystery.

It attracted him just like it did to me. I'm certain he had his own understanding of this attraction, but I doubt even he knew the way he would look at her. Completely consumed, starved, he longed for her in a way I found inappropriate of a teacher towards a student.