"This," she explained softly, gesturing between the small gap between us. "Us. We're just too perfect to be true."
"We're impossibly perfect," I whispered, giving her a small, gentle smile as I entwined her hand with my own, her small little fingers fitting perfectly between mine.
Meeting her was foreign. She was a fan, a true fan, an obsessive fan. When I met her, yes, she screamed in my face, unable to comprehend what was happening, and yes, she had a hard time adjusting to my presence. For once, she was a beautiful, beautiful, and brilliant girl that I wasn't attracted to. I didn't understand why; no one did. Sweet, funny, all around perfect- everything I ever wanted. It was strange, wasn't it? Everyone else thought I'd be in love, but I wasn't. She's just impossibly perfect.
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