As I gaze over, my curiosity piques, I can’t help but wonder what thoughts are occupying her mind. She’s sitting across from me, engrossed in a book, her fingers delicately flipping each page as though it were a rare treasure.
Her composure is admirable, and I can’t help but be taken aback by her beauty. Her hair is neatly tied up in a ponytail and a golden necklace glimmers softly in the light around her neck, adding to her radiance.
However, every so often, she pauses, her eyes glistening with a faraway look. I can’t help but wonder if she’s lost in thought, pondering the latest discovery she’s stumbled upon in her book.
Or maybe, something else is troubling her, and the reality of it keeps intruding on her peace. Regardless, she seems to take it all in stride, never once revealing her innermost thoughts to anyone and this amazes me.
As I watch her, I’m struck by her ethereal beauty; cute eyes that sparkle like gems and a smile so enchanting. I notice that she’s lost in the world of her book, a fantasy land where anything is possible, and she’s momentarily transported there. She smiles, a reflection of the joy she feels within. But just as quickly as it appeared, her smile fades. I can’t tell why, it’s really hard to read her.
Suddenly, she raises her head, and I quickly avert my gaze, afraid that she may sense my scrutiny. The school library is eerily silent, a testament to the fact that exams are over, and the students have left the building. I ponder why she would choose to come here, of all places, on a day like this, to lose herself in a book.
In a world of endless possibilities, where the pages of books come to life with just a click of a button; you can cozy up in your bed, sip your favourite coffee, and immerse yourself in a digital world of words. Why choose to come to a deserted library, to take in the smell of old books?
But then again, maybe that’s the whole point. The library is a haven, a place where one can escape from reality and immerse oneself in the world of the written word.
Despite the peaceful demeanor she exudes, there’s something about her that screams class and sophistication. Again, I can’t help but wonder why someone with her pedigree would choose to spend her time in the school library, lost in the world of books. Surely, with her connections, she could be doing something more glamorous, like an internship or attachment, rubbing shoulders with high-profile individuals.
As I continue to observe her, I notice that she’s acquired a new possession – a pink-covered journal with creamy pages that she holds tenderly, as if it were her most prized possession.
It’s then that I realize that her love for literature and the written word runs deep; perhaps, it’s what fuels her calm and collected demeanor. There’s more to her than meets the eye, and I’m determined to unravel the mystery that surrounds her.
Watching her is like watching a captivating movie that you can’t quite predict. Her thoughts are a mystery, and even as she writes in her journal, I can’t help but wonder what memories the book has evoked. Are they happy or sad? I long to know more about the novel she’s reading, but all I can discern is the name Michael, the author’s first name.
As I’m positioned at the library seat close to the window, diagonally to her left side, she looks fiercely protective of her thoughts, words, and feelings, and it’s evident that getting to know her will take more than a fleeting glance. I’m so curious to read the words she’s penning in her journal, to catch a glimpse of her innermost thoughts and emotions.
It’s not just her access to the finer things in life that draws me to her, but her appreciation for the simple and the old. While everyone else is glued to their screens, lost in the monotony of global village culture, she stands out like a beacon of hope.
Not once did I see her tethered to her phone, lost in the abyss of social media or the latest viral video. No, she seemed liked the one to prefer the peaceful ambiance of long walks, evening dates, and watching the sunset. Maybe that’s why the library calls to her, a place where she can nourish her soul and embrace the beauty of days gone by.
In a world polluted with modernity and madness, she’s the perfect aura of calm, a breath of fresh air that leaves me wanting to be immersed in her quiet and peaceful abyss.
My phone starts ringing, and I reluctantly realize that it’s time to leave the library. I can’t help but wish I knew her name, so I could make all sorts of assumptions about her based on it. Would her name reveal whether she’s a spoiled brat Gen Z or a struggling Millennial? And what about the title of the book she’s reading; perhaps that would give me an insight into her deepest fantasies.
I do know that her favourite colour is, pink, but that’s hardly enough. I’m filled with an intense desire to talk to her, to hear her voice, and to hold a conversation with her. I want to know what makes her tick, what she likes, and what brings her joy. Simply admiring her beauty is not enough; there’s so much more to her than meets the eye.
If only I could ask for her number, I might be able to unravel the mystery that is her. But I will come back tomorrow, I don’t mind waiting for her to show up. Maybe I’ll send a smoke signal or blow a trumpet, anything to grab her attention. After all, mother-nature seems to favour her, and maybe she’ll connect us like two puzzle pieces meant to be together.
(My imaginary secret admirer point of view.)
Interesting.