2.30 PM

2:30 PM

The light wind gently moved the leaves. Watching them move almost hypnotized you.

In the background, voices overlapped, creating that unique atmosphere.

There were quite a lot of people that afternoon. I’d never seen so many at Halltay Camp.

I was just lying there, watching.

I watched people. For me, it was an addiction.

I could get fixated on a girl for minutes at a time. Only the ants crawling on my legs could distract me.

I did it often, watching people.

Not in a malicious way, obviously. Don’t get me wrong.

That afternoon, there was a woman in front of me, maybe in her forties, sitting in her chair and watching. Just like me.

With two big pink headphones over her ears. Who knows what she was listening to.

I wanted to go over there and ask her. “Hey, can I listen too? I’m curious.”

But obviously, I didn’t.

I was already pretty shy normally, let alone with a woman with a disability.

I thought maybe the woman accompanying her might take it the wrong way.

There were quite a lot of dogs that day too.

A Pitbull. It looked like a teddy bear. So sweet. Poor thing, unfairly labelled by society.

And then an old Pomeranian. Its fur was turning white. A bit like my hair. And I’m twenty-nine years old. But that’s another story.

Coca-Cola cans tucked into shoes. What a peaceful thing.

Watching, I always realized how much we are all alike. And yet so distant.

Well, that day, though, there was her.

I’m not good at figuring out someone’s age, especially when it’s a girl.

She could have been anywhere between sixteen and twenty-eight, as far as I’m concerned.

Maybe five-foot-three. With short black bobbed hair. She wore a headband, also black, and kept her bangs in place.

A black dress, beautiful. Black tights and black shoes. Yeah, maybe a little dark, but God... how beautiful.

And that dress that left half of her back exposed. What a beauty.

I was hypnotized watching her. That bra mark on her tan, that little silver cross necklace.

She was sitting there, just like me.

We were only a few meters apart. I could hear her voice.

She talked constantly. Really. She was like a machine.

And me, trust me, I love peace and quiet. I’ve never liked talking too much. But I swear to you, here and now. I could have listened to her for hours.

I spent the whole time watching her, listening to her, preparing things to say to her. Things I would never actually say.

At some point, she even started singing while drawing a portrait in her notebook of who I think was her sister.

How can you not fall in love?

She was beautiful as hell, had an incredible voice, knew how to draw.

There are those people who capture you, even just by looking at them once.

It had already happened to me. But that time... that time I’m still sure, no one will ever manage to captivate me the way she did.

I’d like to go back to that day, find the courage and go talk to her.

And instead, here I am. Writing while thinking about her.

And I’ll tell you something else.

It hasn’t been that long since I saw her.

Actually, I’m here right now.

She just looked me in the eyes for a moment. What a feeling.

Obviously, I panicked immediately and looked away.

But it was the best second of the day. Maybe of the month.

How easy it would be to walk up to her and say: “Hey, that ice cream stand looks pretty tempting. Want an ice cream?”

Yeah, easy.

Maybe for someone without fear.

I wonder if fate has already done enough by making us meet here, just a few meters apart. Or if I have to wait for some other sign.

Maybe it’s up to me. But maybe I’ll wait. Like I always do.

Let’s go back to the past for a moment. I write, I decide, don’t complain.

She maybe had a little cousin, or maybe a little sister.

You should have seen her. The way she put little butterflies in her hair, with a sweetness that could end wars.

She wasn’t just the woman of my life. She could have been the mother of my children.

I don’t know why. Obviously, you’ll think I’m crazy.

All of this in one afternoon?

And yet, that’s how it is.

Now I don’t know if I’ll talk to her.

Ninety percent chance I won’t.

For her, it will remain an ordinary afternoon. Unaware that she became the protagonist of my day.

Maybe we’ll see each other in another life, where fate insists a little more.

But God. What a beautiful afternoon.

The moral of the story? There are three parallel lines.

This one we’re in, where I’m writing about the girl who struck me, without ever actually knowing her.

The one where I go talk to her and she rejects me, so I sink even deeper into depression and put myself down even more.

And the one where I go talk to her and she doesn’t reject me. We live a life together with children, grandchildren and lots of happiness.

It doesn’t matter if these three lines have three different endings. They all have one thing in common. The most important one. Love.

The Halltay Camp Diary.