Only Her Eyes

They say eyes never lie. These are the windows to someone's emotions, stories, that are mostly kept.

Just like mine. But mine have always been good at hiding things.
Sadness. Restlessness. The ache of waiting for something that I don't even know.

And then one day, a typical day while doing routinary things, someone started looking at them differently. Different as if I became visible in this world. Like someone found me among the crowd of people.
He looked at me as if he was reading what was going inside my head. As if I am some foreign language he must understand.

He never uttered a word towards me. Not once. But every Tuesday, he was there in his usual seat by the door with his camera resting in his hands, his eyes, steady and searching for something. And I pretended not to notice, like I am oblivious to the world. At first.

But the truth is I always notice him. I always did.

I knew he was looking at me. Every wandering eye I gaze at the foggy scene in front of me. I saw him in my peripheral vision, looking at me. And if he wasn't looking, I wish he would glance my way just one more time.

This is the story of a boy who took pictures amidst the silence, of my silence. And the girl who drew him from memory.