Maybe it’s the few freckles that are dotted across the high of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.
Maybe it’s the fact that he looks almost golden in this light. Shining.
Maybe, I think,thatis what draws me to him.
But those things are all much too artificial. They’re easy reasons. Surface-level. Things you notice first, not the things thatstay.
Because the truth is, it’s not just the way he looks. It’s thefeelingof him. The way the air seems to shift just slightly when he moves, like the space around him knows he’s there and is adjusting accordingly. Like the world leans in a little closer.
There’s a presence about him—an energy. Bright, but not warm. Invisible, yet undeniable.
The kind of energy that would’ve intimidated me, maybe even repelled me, if I hadn’t been so drawn in by it.
I don’t know why.
Maybe it’s because I still can’t see his whole face, and yet Iknow—in that instinctive, spine-prickling way—that this boy matters?
Or maybe it’s the feeling in my gut, that low, strange pull I can’t quite explain. Like I’ve seen him before in a dream I don’t remember, or a story someone told me, long ago.
It’s unsettling.
Unfair.
Unreal.
I force myself to look away, to ground myself in something that doesn’t feel like it might tip my entire day off balance.
But even then,even then, I still feel him.
That energy.
That presence.
Like I’ve unknowingly stepped too close to something powerful, and now there’s no stepping back.
Because nowhe’slooking atme.
“Do you ever stop talking?” he mutters, his voice terse with irritation, and I feel my face heat. I just know I’m turning bright red right now.
“Oh, um, sorry,” I stammer, shrinking back slightly in my seat on instinct. “I was just… trying to make conversation.”
He sighs, and I can almost imagine the look of irritation in his eyes. “I prefer silence.”
I swallow the pang of disappointment and lean back, plastering on a smile. “Guess we can enjoy the silence together, then.” Clearly, he isn’t even a little bit interested in engaging in any form of conversation.
Oh, Adeline, a voice in my head says.
Why do you always do this to yourself?
Why do you try so hard to fit into places that weren’t built for you?
Why do you have to be such a liability?
Maybe some people are just born forgettable.
And maybe I’m one of them.
Forgettable.
