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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3. Adam

I waited for hours, settled into the small couch there—where she liked to read. I knew when she returned from class, she would crave coffee. I was surprised she didn't have a cup with her this morning.

I've watched her for months. I wasn't one of those creepy people who grew obsessed with someone they didn't know. I knew her.

I knew Avery Barnes better than anyone.

I knew what type of movies she liked, the coffee she drank, the tea she preferred to others, the placement of her keys and books in her home.

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.

I loved her; she loved me.

We were meant to be.

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