Desperate

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eighteen

Shreyas spent the next few weeks trying to be my friend. Without fail everyday he would show up at the library at 7:30 sharp and sit and read with me. Usually he read some form of poetry, probably to seem mysterious and sexy, while I read some lame excuse for a novel. As soon as the bell rang I would spring up, with him right on my heels.

A couple weeks in, he started to talk. He talked about the feelings behind the poem, his opinion on the author, anything to hear the sound of his own voice, or maybe in hope he would finally hear mine. Not once did I answer his questions, ones that he ended up answering himself after many a hopeful pause. I sat there as he jabbered on, gritting my teeth, and trying to get lost in the world of the book. His persistent voice, however, seemed to seep right through the yellowing pages of the library book, like black sharpie bleeding through paper.

I could have easily just left, or told him to please, shut up, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that was the last thing I wanted. My lasting feelings for Shreyas loomed over my head every time I saw his limber body strewn across a beanbag in the morning. This small sliver of a moment that we have together is the one thing I look forward to in my day. This is my one assurance that all of those years with an undefined thing weren't for nothing, that at least we got something out of it. Even if it was just a friendship, it would be worth it, all the years of pining after him and feeding off the hope of being the amazing thing I "knew" we could be, the amazing thing everyone seemed to "know" we could be.

After all the years of constantly being on Shreyas's bad side, I had long forgotten what it was like to be his friend. He would joke, even when he knew I wouldn't laugh. He would smile at me even when all I do is glare. He would ask if I wanted to eat lunch with him, even when he knew I would angrily shake my head and stalk away, everyday without fail. Being friends with Shreyas was like experiencing summer after living a lifetime in winter.

Except we weren't friends, I reminded myself. I found myself having to remind myself of that more and more often now that Shreyas is becoming increasingly more persistent.

Shreyas and I are not friends.

Shreyas. And. I. Are. Not. Friends.

Somewhere in the depths of my mind I knew that in the near future that would all change.


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