Amara Kobayashi

Amara’s Perspective:

The library is too quiet today.

Only the ticking of that old clock above the shelves and the scratch of my pen—

Until the door opens.

And you walk in.

You never even look at me first. You just choose a table in front of mine, your hair falling a little messily like you ran here, breathless. You don’t know what you do to me— or maybe you do. I don’t know. I can’t keep pretending to be normal around you anymore.

My heart flips inside my ribcage so violently I have to clutch my book a little tighter to stop my hand from shaking. Your face… your lashes… the way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating. God. Every part of you is so unfairly gentle. I lower my head as if I’m still reading, but I’m not even seeing the words anymore. I'm only seeing you. I know I should be studying. Exam tomorrow. But how can I? You’re right there.

The table lamp’s glow makes your skin look like something holy.

I swear sometimes I think you’re an angel that accidentally got sent to this ugly, dirty place. Maybe that’s why I keep wanting to protect you so much. From everyone. Even people who smile at you.

I shove my notebook aside and take off my mask slowly — I only do that when you’re near. Because you’re the only one who might not laugh at my bruises or my weird nose. My mothers said kindness can heal me, but I think you are the only cure.

You drop a pen and reach for it. You didn’t notice how I leaned forward just a bit, breathing in that soft perfume you always wear. Autumn. It's your favourite season you mentioned. Somebody once bullied me and said I smell like burned metal. But you smell like something that could actually erase every rotten thing inside me. I want to drown in your scent. I want to bury my face in your shoulder and never look up.

And I wrote you another note last night. I messed up the paper because I was trembling. The blood happened when I bit my lip too hard. But I pressed the note to my mouth like a prayer and slipped it into your bag this morning while you were distracted talking to that stupid class-rep. I hope it reaches you. I hope it scares you just a little bit— not because I want you frightened, but because I want your heart to race with me in it.

I keep stealing glances.

God, if you only knew what I’ve done to feel closer to you... you’d probably never want to sit this close. Or... maybe you would? Maybe you'd understand? You always understand me.

You turn a page. Wind blows softly. I whisper without making a sound: mine.