Hopeless Romantics Anonymous

Today, while walking to class, the girl in front of me dropped her pencil. It wasn’t a fancy pencil by any stretch of the imagination, just a simple black mechanical pencil, nothing more. Despite its simplicity, another student walking in the opposite direction swooped down and picked it up. He called out to her, a bright expulsion of sound rounded like a stone, but she did not acknowledge his call or she did not hear it. He started to jog after her and in the span of the distance between them, I conjured up the future into the midday sun.

He would reach out and touch her softly on the shoulder, a ghost’s carress, and extend the pencil to her. She would be surprised, then laugh-bashful and embarrassed laughter like apologetic bubbles- and thank him. There they would stand, heads bent over the pencil that brought them together. They would talk and shuffle their feet and blush and giggle. Ultimately, after the shuffling and blushing and giggling, they would decide to get coffee, or ice cream, or a slice of pizza later in the day. Their mouths would not define it as a date, but their minds and hearts would real with the luck that her dropped pencil had brought them both.

All this came to me in the 4 or 5 steps it took him to catch up to her.

Of course, what really happened is: he handed her the pencil. She thanked him. They carried on their separate ways without a glance back.

Hello, my name is Eliza and I am a hopeless romantic.

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