For hours on end, I've been perched by my window, eagerly watching Zara's house and hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but alas, luck hasn't been on my side.
The weekend is drawing to a close, but I haven't been able to even spot a single strand of her hair. How hard could it be to see someone in this darn neighbourhood?
I've made six trips to the supermarket today, carefully scanning the streets left and right, hoping to spot her anywhere. I've spent hours cleaning my window, not because it needed to be cleaned, but because it gave me an excuse to peer outside, yearning to see her face.
The first time I laid eyes on her, I was spellbound. Her short, curly hair framed her face perfectly as she laughed and ran, joyously playing with her brother.
Her joy was infectious.
For a second, the heavy boxes I had in my hand felt almost weightless. Time stretched into a languid crawl, and she remained the singular focus of my world. Everything around me faded into the background and my gaze fixed on her.
How could someone be so beautiful?
They say angels reside in heaven, yet before me, I beheld one in the flesh, a living embodiment of ethereal beauty.
You can imagine my surprise when I saw her again at my new school, in the same class, seated right in front of me. If that isn't fate, I don't know what is.
Thankfully, she remained unaware of my intense admiration, as I couldn't tear my gaze away from her. I wouldn't want to make her feel uncomfortable.
With the onset of night, hope dwindled like the fading twilight. The distant streetlights cast long, eerie shadows that danced on my bedroom walls. I couldn't help but wonder where she was and what she was doing. All I could envision was her face, adorned with that radiant smile.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The relentless ticking of the clock echoed through my room, each second feeling like an eternity. It's as if time itself had conspired against me, stretching the seconds into minutes and minutes into hours. My only solace lay in wishing for the next day to arrive swiftly so I could see her.
***
Five minutes to the first lesson, but still, there was no sign of Zara. I couldn't help but notice her occasional tardiness; once or twice a week, she would arrive late and, after the first lesson, storm out like a tempest.
I kept a vigilant eye on the window, checking for any glimpse of her, and I wasn't alone in this. Marina and Zane, too, repeatedly stole glances through the glass once every minute.
As the bell rang to signal the start of class, our collective gaze shifted, and we reluctantly returned to our seats. Just when it seemed like she might not make it, she stormed into the classroom, looking tired and out of breath.
Zara's disheveled appearance was immediately apparent as she made her dramatic entrance. Her school tie was askew, with the knot hanging loosely below her collarbone. Her collar, too, was defiantly uncooperative, with one side folded inward while the other stubbornly stuck out. It looked like she had waged a losing battle with her uniform that morning. Her usually impeccable curls were now a charming mess.
With an air of exasperation, she flung herself into her chair, still struggling to catch her breath.
"Again?" I heard Marina say. Zara, still out of breath, nodded. "How do you want us to get back at him, chummy? I'm in." She continued.
Zara, feeling fatigued, remained silent. Marina began fanning her with her book until her breathing gradually steadied. However, before she could respond, our math teacher entered the classroom for the first lesson.
The lesson proceeded as usual, with the teacher explaining complex equations and formulas. After the class ended, Zane turned to me, enquiring about my whereabouts during the weekend.
Puzzled, I replied, "What do you mean?"
"Yesterday and the day before yesterday, we knocked on your door for quite some time, but there was no response." Zane explained.
"We thought you might have gone out or were deep in slumber. Marina loudly called out your name but we got no answer" Zara added.
"I was actually at home."
"Were you sleeping?"
"No, I was awake and active," I responded.
"Then how on earth did you not hear us?" Zane pressed.
Suddenly, it struck me. It must have been one of those countless times when I had gone to the supermarket, secretly hoping to run into Zara.
Swiftly, I concocted an excuse, saying, I was engrossed in a football match, and the volume was turned up high to hear them.
"Oh, that explains it. You missed out on all the fun," Marina lamented. "We took Zane to one of his auditions, but unfortunately, he didn't make it. So, we decided to visit the amusement park. It was a blast!"
"We genuinely wished you were there," Zane added.
"Maybe next time," I suggested.
"Sure, but don't keep your volume too high," Zara playfully warned.
With a smile, I replied, "I'll try not to."
I sensed her gaze lingering on me, and then she softly inquired, "What happened to your face?"
I immediately realised she was talking about the scratch on my jaw. My attempt to conceal it must have been fruitless. "Oh, I accidentally bumped into a pole the other day," I casually replied.
"With your jaw?" Marina asked, looking a little unconvinced.
"Yes."
"Does it still hurt?" Zara added.
"No, not at all," I reassured.
Marina and Zane had previously questioned me about the bruise on my face, but this time, it felt different. It touched me in ways that were hard to put into words. It stirred emotions deep within me.
Zane's subtle glance did not escape my notice. Something about his expression made me wonder if he had picked up on my feelings for Zara. Were my eyes betraying my emotions? Was it too obvious? I thought to myself.
"You're treading on dangerous ground." Zane playfully sang while giving me a knowing look.
Zara and Marina, wearing matching expressions of cluelessness, asked in perfect unison, "What?"
With a mischievous smile, Zane brushed off their confusion, replying, "Oh, nothing."
They remained blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil brewing within me. I gave Zane a swift, acknowledging glance and a brief smile.
Then suddenly, Zara swiftly stood up, her expression shifting instantly to one of anger, as if something had triggered her.
"Oh, there she goes."
"For a moment, I thought she'd actually let it go," Marina added, her tone softer but still full of concern.
Curious, I asked, "Why does Alek do that to Zara?"
Marina's gaze softened as she explained, "When life takes away the people you love, it makes you hold on tight to the ones left, especially when you can't protect them from everything."
Zane, looking slightly amused, raised an eyebrow. "Why are you speaking all deep and poetic? I don't even understand it yet I've lived through the whole story." He leaned back, his voice casual. "Anyway, Zara's dad died from Type 2 diabetes. And, if you haven't noticed, Zara's got a sweet tooth and doesn't like exercising, so…"
He shrugged, letting the silence speak for itself.
Marina added, her tone softened, "Alek's just a brother doing everything he can to make sure his sister lives a long, healthy life."
Something about the simplicity of her words struck me, a feeling I couldn't quite place.
During Phys Ed., I noticed Zara going into an abandoned classroom, which I later found out she called her hidden nook. This was not the first time I had seen her sneak into the classroom, and this time I decided to follow her.
As I cautiously entered, I couldn't help but notice how the dusty room was adorned with vibrant splashes of colour. It had been reborn as a sanctuary of artistry.
Zara, perched on a comfortable classic bentwood chair, was completely absorbed in her work, her passion radiating from her as she delicately added strokes to her canvas.
She suddenly became aware of a presence, and her eyes widened with a startle. They quickly softened with relief when she realised it was me.
"I thought you were Mr. Tantrum," she admitted, a hint of amusement in her voice. She resumed her work, her brush gently caressing the canvas.
I drew nearer to the painting. I was intrigued by the lifelike image taking form. "Who is that?" I enquired, genuinely fascinated.
"Someone from my imagination," she replied, her eyes still fixed on her work.
"You truly have a gift. It looks incredibly realistic," I complimented.
"It does? I'm still practising. I can't seem to get the eyes right."
"I think it's beautiful," I reassured her, though I couldn't fully appreciate the intricacies of her struggle with the eye given my limited knowledge of painting.
I then settled into a seat within the makeshift studio Zara had conjured. My eyes followed her every move as she methodically mixed her paints on the palette.
As I watched her skilfully navigate her way through the lifelike portrait, curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn't resist asking when she first discovered her talent for painting.
Her eyes remained focused on her work as she replied, "When I was six years old."
"Six? That's astonishing!" I exclaimed.
With a nostalgic smile, she continued, "I began by sketching on pavements with nothing but charcoal and chalk. My mother noticed my passion and gifted me my first set of art supplies."
"She had quite the discerning eye," I remarked.
"I suppose so," she replied, her gaze still fixed intently on the canvas. She meticulously studied the portrait, particularly the eye.
"Still struggling to capture it perfectly?" I inquired.
"Yes," she admitted, her head tilting from side to side in search of the perfect angle. Eventually, she paused, her eyes shifting from the painting to me, and she said, "Want to be my model?"
I blinked, surprised. That was... unexpected.
But also, kind of flattering.
"I've never modeled before," I said cautiously.
"It's easy," she shrugged. "You just pose. I paint."
"That doesn't sound easy at all," I replied, avoiding her gaze. She was looking at me so intently, it made my heart stutter. The thought of staring into her eyes for minutes on end sounded like heaven, but I had to play it cool.
"What do I get in return?"
She frowned, clearly confused. "Nothing? We're friends."
"You've never asked me to be your friend," I said, feigning disappointment like a sulky child.
She squinted at me. "Do people ask? Friendship just… happens."
I gave her a look, the kind that said I want to be asked.
Realising what I was implying, she sighed dramatically, like she couldn't believe she was indulging me. She set her brush down, folded her arms, and said, "Fine. Kai, would you like to be my friend?"
"Well, if you insist," I replied with a teasing smirk.
She rolled her eyes. "So, will you be my model?"
"Fifty." I firmly said.
"What?" Her voice rose an octave.
"Fifty. That's my price."
"We're friends," she said, nearly shouting.
"Exactly. And friends don't take advantage of each other's time. Some people make a living off this, you know."
"Yes, and those people have rich employers."
"So promise you'll pay me once you're rich."
"Okay, okay, I promise," she said, clearly just trying to get me to shut up and agree.
"I mean it," I said. "I don't care if you're on Mars or the bottom of the ocean. I'll come collect."
"Whatever," she groaned. "Now please, promise to be my model? Please, please, please?"
"Only if you promise to be mine," I countered. Her perplexed expression prompted me to clarify, "If you promise to be my model too."
"Oh! You paint as well?" Her curiosity piqued.
I shook my head and said, "No, but I express my appreciation for art through photography."
After a thoughtful pause, her hesitation melted into a tentative smile. "Deal."
We had just started talking about setting a time for the painting and photography sessions when she suddenly paused, a thought crossing her mind.
"Wait a second," she said raising a brow. "If I agree to be your model, doesn't that cancel out the deal? I mean, I don't have to pay anymore, right?"
"You already made a promise," I said, giving her a knowing look. "That can't be cancelled. But you can come up with your own terms."
"My term is to cancel the promise," she said, raising her chin with a newfound confidence, her posture straightening as if she were standing at the top of a podium, leaving me figuratively kneeling beneath her.
"Doesn't work like that."
"Okay, fifty," she said after a moment, smirking. "I'll come for it once you're rich."
"Oh wow, very creative," I teased.
She laughed. "Alright, I can't think of anything better. How about I let you know when I come up with something?"
I paused, then nodded. "Cool."
We sealed it with a dramatic handshake, like we'd just signed a million-dollar pact.
"Deal."