Well, you noticed her. Her backpack slung on the side while she tied her hair in a ponytail because it was a windy afternoon in May. You didn’t have anything to give her. You are not very talented. Just popular. No, nobody knows why. She is everything that you are not. She is talented. Her sketches make creases on your skin look fake. The way she strums her guitar makes all your fears turn into mountains made of clay. While they burnt a fire in you, she shuddered as she could never believe she did a good job. Her shudders spoke to you, told you her story. The story of her lost in the glitches. She used to look for you since you made her glitches look like hues transcending into an ombré. You joked. You ornamentalised her to make her look incandescent, but you took no heed of her. You only saw her when she wanted to be seen by you.
Days she would follow you to the bus stop, you wouldn’t notice her. Days she walked behind you during lunch break, you wouldn’t notice her. The day she walked among your friends, with her head buried in the air in front of her, you noticed her. You noticed the lanky way she walked, you noticed her small lean body, her perfectly straight hair, her small button nose and decided you like her. You like her because she is peculiar. You like her because she is bursting with potentiality. You like her because she is harmless. She radiates this glow that is forgotten. She doesn’t like hugs. You hug her. You would like to think that you found a way to her heart. She let you in anyway.
All she wanted was a friend, someone to make her feel wanted. Now you know she was battling depression. Then you didn’t realise. People came to you and spoke about her. You giggled with them while she was trying to figure herself out. What I don’t understand is why you would go back to her. Did she make you feel better about yourself? Was her misery giving you a purpose? She battled day in and day out. It took you a while to realise the seriousness of it all. She was a foreign girl to you. Remember that day? You were sitting on her terrace for your regular guitar lessons while she effortlessly strummed at her nylon strings. You were mesmerised by her, weren’t you? Her eyes sparkled when she played. Maybe that’s why you always go back to her.