Infatuation

I knew more about her for never having spoken to her. We didn't need to. Because the way she looked at me sometimes, that said it all. She wanted me. She didn't mind that I'd stop by her apartment late, or that I'd watch her sleep, buried under her gray blanket, while the stars strung around her room blinked on and off to the rhythm of her breathing.

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1. Adam

The crowd is thick, but I could still see her, blonde hair twisting in the wind. Today she's wearing dark jeans, a blue sweater and boots. She's carrying two books, both introductions to Psychology and Criminal Justice.

I stayed far enough behind that she wouldn't see me, but close enough so that I caould still catch the scent from her as the breeze picks up.

She smelled of vanilla.

She stopped suddenly at the light, waiting. Others bumped into her, but she didn't say anything.

I approached slowly, shifting my shoulder into hers. An accident, she'd think. There's too many people around her, too small a space to get by.

"Excuse me," I muttered, and caught her gaze.

Her emerald eyes were bright, friendly,

She smiled.

My lips twitched into what I hope resembled a smile, then I walked into the small coffee shop on the corner.

And waited for her.

Just like I did every day.

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