She loved him.
She hardly knew him, yet she loved him.
. . .
It is sudden, as if something majestic has plotted him there at that particular moment in time, frozen as a white enigma in the limelight of the classroom, parallel to the windows golden and bright with sun. A painting in motion.
He glances up from his book with that same blank expression he always favors as if he is consumed by his own world, caught between wanting and needing. His vacant stare makes her want to flee.
She glances away from him and settles into her seat, taking out her own books and flipping to an irrelevant page. She stares at it for more time than necessary, reading the same sentence over and over again, attempting vainly to make sense of the symbols called letters, grouped together to form words, arranged carefully to make sentences.
On the exterior she is cool, calm, and collected. Yet on the inside she is already spiraling downwards towards chaos and destruction.
Still staring at the white, blinding pages, she props her head on her hand and sighs, shifting a bit for comfort. Her arm slips and she inadvertently elbows her pen off the desk. It goes skidding down the isle towards his feet. With one deft movement, he has it in his hand and is handing it back to her.
She takes it with a murmur of gratitude and returns to her book, still attempting to make sense of it all.
. . .
Every time she tried to tell him, her lips would still, her mind would freeze, and she panicked.
. . .
"Have you found it?" he asks one day.
They are in the public library, outside of school campus. They have agreed to meet together to work on a research paper. Outside, it is night and raining.
"I'm sorry?" she replies and glances up from her book.
His body is inclined over the table and his eyes are soaring through the pages. "Have you found anything relevant to polygamy?"
She glances over at the mountain of books they have yet to sort through. "Not yet, but I'm sure we will. I'm only on book number two." She flips the page and scans the paragraphs. "Oh! Here. It says that polygamy is still practiced in any Muslim country that still retains traditional Islamic law, including parts of Africa. There's a lot more here too. Oh, maybe too much. I think we can photocopy this chapter here for future references."
He nods. She bits her lip.
"You know, I really don't think polygamy should be legal anywhere in the world. I mean, it's so wrong. One man for ten women? Where's the equality in that? That just makes us woman look like cattle to be herded."
The furious skimming stops and his eyes slide up to meet hers. He regards her beneath long lashes and brows. "He provides sufficiently for each wife, does he not?"
"Doesn't matter. Case in point: a shepherd provides for each sheep."
His brows are drawn in the slightest frown. "You referred to cattle not sheep."
"All the same," she shrugs, and swallows loudly.
There is a moment of perusal. Golden eyes as never leave her face as he sits back, thick arms folding into the other. The ceiling-to-floor windows shudder with the roll of thunder. She squirms beneath him.
"You see," she starts and focuses on the lines that run through the wooden table, "I believe marriage should be dedicating your love to one person. Not splitting love between ten people. That's like splitting a dollar ten ways and giving it to the poor and saying 'Now you're rich.'"
He wears the same vacant stare that makes her tremble. "Miss Higurashi, you believe love is a magnificent thing, correct?"
"Of course," she replies.
"Then is it not so magnificent enough to give to many people? Do you think that it comes in such a rarity that you may keep it for one person?"
Outside, the rain picks up.
She falls silent. His body is still as a marble statue while his eyes gently search her face. The windows shudder beside her again and she turns to look outside. The rain is invisible in the dark, except for where it sparkles like glass beneath the streetlights. He is still waiting.
She takes a breath, opens her mouth to speak, the pulse in her neck flutters; her palms grow sweaty.
"Is something wrong?" he asks her.
She jumps at his voice. Flushing, she stammers, "No, no, I was just thinking. I'm fine."
He nods and they return to their research.
. . .
It continued like that for a while. He would always ask if something was wrong. At times she thought she saw a spark of humor in those vacant eyes of his. She couldn't tell.
. . .
He browses through her photo albums as she stumbles through her small apartment. He never once looks up as she flies across the living room.
"I swear, it's in here somewhere," she yells from her bedroom. There is a clatter of glass and a crash of falling books. "Damn it! Where is it?"
He chuckles nonchalantly at one of her photographs. He seems to be oblivious to her rowdy commotion.
"I'll find that it somewhere. I mean, a book doesn't just walk away like that!" She flies across the living room but stops short this time. She sees him standing with the photo album cradled in his arm. He is smiling down at one of the photos.
Her breath catches.
She begins to tell him, as all the other times, but everything fails and she shuts her mouth, like all the other times. He glances up when he notices that she has halted her frenzy. The smile fades until there is something secret and amusing.
"Is something wrong?"
She smiles and shakes her head. "No. Nothing is wrong."
"…I see," he says finally.
Her eyes flicker down to the sofa. Something blue juts out from beneath a pillow. "Oh!" Her hand snatches the book up. "Found it!"
. . .
And then she knew where that secret humor came from.
. . .
He has caught her at one of the school bus stops. It is pouring and her thin jacket is getting soaked and cold. His umbrella hovers over both of them.
"Do you watch the news, Miss Higurashi?" he asks her over the roar of the rain.
She laughs, and it's lost in the rain. "Apparently not."
"My car isn't far from here. You will get sick if you stand out here any longer," he tells her.
Something warms lays heavy on her skin. There is silence, and she turns fully to look up at him. His penetrating eyes catch her off guard.
"I think I love-" she blurts.
"I know." He turns away, hand in pocket.
She starts and her lungs fail her. "Pardon?"
"I know," he repeats.
Her eyes are wide and wild. "You know?"
"I have for quite some time."
Around them, the rain falls faster. It pounds the black umbrella above her head. Suddenly, she bursts into a fit of laughter. At first, he stares incredulously at her, but after a moment, he begins to laugh too.
Because in the rain, there is an unspoken resolution.
Something secret. Something sacred. Something shared.
. . .
He loved her.
He hardly knew her, yet he loved her.