strangers, yet not strangers

It began from a distance, that awkward eye contact, eye contact that no longer felt too awkward. It happened far too frequently, and besides, she began to like the awkwardness. Gazes were held from across the room, intensity rising, and she looks away before her flush begins to show. She starts to find familiarity in his face; how his eyes gleam with mischief, the way his smirk turns into a genuine smile, followed by the tinkle of his laughter, the way he walks, how his hair is styled; the same old spikes everyday. And although they don't talk, she knows when something's not quite right -- his face is all too familiar.

Quietly, she packs her books into her haversack and steps out of the room - alone - there he is in front of her. Quickly, she rushes to scramble out of the room, late for her next class - and there he is right behind her, holding the door open; and months pass with the same old routine each week. No words are exchanged, but nothing changes. Gazes are held, words are unsaid, and he leaves the room right behind her. 

She ponders. There were reasons unspoken, actions unexplained. They had to make sense, somehow. She wanted them to. She musters up the courage one day, and smiles. But he returned nothing. The smile was not comfortable, it felt like a moment of shame - she thought to herself: the silence worked better. And silent they remained.

strangers, yet not strangers

that's what they were