Falling In Love with a Stranger

London by Rebecca Wembri

This is a story that both entertains and defies all your preconditioned clichés.

I remember the first time I spotted you loitering outside of the school building. You were reminiscent of a James Deanesque character, leaning against the concrete walls with an effortlessness that made you seem more like a jerk than cool. You lit your cigarette and glanced in my direction, though I will never be sure whether you looked at me or near me; your aviators blocked the view. And I know that cigarettes and smoking are deadly, but that only made you more appealing.
There is something to be said about carefree youth who romanticize smoking, as if they are knowingly shortening their lives and in the process couldn't care less. I have yet to decide whether I find it all poetic, or moronic.

When I saw you next, I hadn't felt surprised. It seemed fitting that our story would be quilted over many more encounters. From then on, from the corner of my eye I would spot each curious look you gave me. At times when you turned towards me, I would go motionless, as if I could feel you with only a few seats separating us from each other. In those instances, I tried to distract my mind. I remember turning nervously to face the window. In the midst of winter the heated room left remnants of water drops on the glass; I'd thought of the snowflakes melting, even though in that moment, it felt like I was.

One day you walked in, smiling. I suppose it was the first time I had ever seen you truly happy. I wondered what triggered your laughter - I imagined that you had a girlfriend and pictured that you loved her. In that instance I snapped back into reality - it was clear that I didn't know the first thing about you. My knowledge of you was fashioned on glances; shoulder grazes; smiles and an awkward tension that filled the room.

A few times I caught the intensity of your gaze and it took all the air out of my lungs. It was the kind of momentary love that radiated off us both. I used to convince myself that you hadn't felt it too, but once we stood directly in front of each other entirely void of words - with only expressions to speak for - I couldn't ignore that you probably sensed it too.

Even now, I can barely fathom what kind of person, friend, lover you are. We seemed ill-equipped and undetermined to begin anything. You were a constant reminder of what I desperately wanted and failed to grasp. And maybe it wasn't love; in fact I know it probably wasn't, but I just loved the idea of loving you. You had awoken in me, feelings of passion and excitement, I would look forward to all our momentary anythings.

This was never a love story, it was a flirtatious encounter with a faultless idea. Those feelings that once consumed me for months, had also set me free.