Thanks to that Indian Tree

I saw him yesterday.

He is sitting in a bench with his three friends, two boys and a girl. I am carefully looking at them, especially at him. I am standing outside our classroom, waiting for the bell to ring as a prompt to our next class. The building where their bench is placed is parallel to our classroom. He can’t see me, I guess, because an Indian tree is standing in front of me. The tree serves as my umbrella from the mid-noon sun. I am thankful to the one who planted that tree. The tree conceals me from their sight. But I can clearly see them, I can clearly see him.

The two boys sit on his right side, the girl on his left. His two (boy) friends are talking to each other, the one on the right holding a book and the one on the left holding his iPad mini. He was talking to the girl. Their topic seems funny because they keep on laughing. I notice him move closer and closer to the girl as minutes passed by. I have never seen him as touchy as he does with that girl. He touches the girl’s long, brown hair every time it falls on her face because the wind keeps it out of her ears. He collects the strands of hair and locks them on her ear. I see him on the verge of a panic when the hair touches her face, as if those hairs are preventing him from seeing her eyes to eyes.

I can see him look straight to her big brown eyes that compliment her fair and glowing skin. His eyes speak a lot about her. The way he looks at her, as if he is in awe. He touches the girl’s shoulder, pulling her closer to him every time she moves even an inch farther. He just wants to be close to her, even closer. He wants some physical contact, as if that contact would generate electricity that could light up his whole world. The girl sends gentle punches, as his face turning red as a result of laughing really hard, an indicator that he must be joking and the subject of his joke is the girl. As the girl punches him, he catches her fist by his hand and held it to his chest as if hugging the girl’s arm. Those punches seem to be the most relaxing and the sweetest punches he had ever received. They busied their selves talking things I could not hear, laughing, and holding each other’s hands.

They are two beautiful lovebirds, so colorful and radiant. They are wonderful scenery in this busy and tedious University. They seem so in-love to each other but he obviously loves her more than she loves him. I imagine myself as the girl beside him. The girl setting next to him, laughing with him, the girl he cherishes, the girl that could turn his frown upside-down, the girl he will not trade with any guitars that he dreamt of having, and the girl he love the most.

But instead of feeling happy and special, I feel sad.  Butterflies in my stomach went wild. They grow bigger, turning into a bird-like size. Their movements, so erratic, they collide with each other. The growling in my stomach grows louder and louder until my heart hurts. Tears running away from my eyes, freed from their dark prison camp. It hurts because I know I could never be that girl. I could never please him, even with my enormous efforts. I could never brighten up his days the way her smiles brighten it. He cannot and will not love me, again. That girl fills up everything I haven’t done when I was his girl. She took my part, took my role, and it turns out that she played it better than I could. 😐

 

Well, thanks to that Indian tree. He was not able to see me cry because if he did, I would surely die. 😛

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