I met him, finally. The first sentence he spoke to me was full of intention, and I was naive enough to think it was playful. “So you don’t go to class anymore?” He already knew my name. I just wish he had been signing it on the roster for me at the end of those lectures I missed. That class is so ridiculous anyway, and my single stimulus was watching everyone else become engulfed in their devices.
In the last class I attended, I noticed not only the girl next to me gaslighting her boyfriend over text, but him. I’d had an eye out for him since the first time I heard him speak, always seeming to hide something behind the cynical smile he holds with pride. Alas, I was too busy snooping on miss toxic to question his body language at the time.
His legs almost fit under the table upright, but not quite. Constantly his legs are spread and fucking bouncing, and in those shorts, how could I not notice? With constant restless movement, but still completely engrossed, he must have typed a novel sitting across from me. He is chaotic but there is this unpredictable element of precision in him. I see other people interested, but he is always preoccupied, and I didn’t consider that he may have just been waiting for me to look away.