"What major are you going in?"
"Film..." I wasn't paying much attention, I noticed her kneeling down into her locker and I turned to Retoque and said, "I'm sorry, I have to go seal my fate."

What an odd choice of words. I was trying to sound dramatic, not literal, I never expected her to react the way she did. I had wasted precious words on a woman I barely knew and for two strong weeks my mind was certain of my hearts place. It was as if there were two large pieces of puzzle lying on a table that had yet to be placed in their obvious position. Whereas my intuition knew that the two pieces should be together, she was oblivious to it. I thought she had yet to realize the obvious solution and I was planning on informing her, with a charming letter of eloquence and confession.

So as I walked down the narrow hallway of lockers to what I was sure was going to be the most drastic and interesting moment of my later life, I was halted by the inquisition of a class mate, "will you be going to the bar tonight?" he asked. I should have said yes, definitely, instead I played it like I was too good for him, "we'll see man."

Calm and confident, I turned and was two feet facing a window, the city skyline was just a blur in this moment of concentration as, in complete focus, she arose and looked at me as I pronounced her name, "Colora".

I nearly lost my cool when I went to retrieve the letter that was in my pocket to realize it wasn't there. What felt like forever, was actually no time, when I realized it was in my bag and before I knew it my calm had taken such a hold over me that I was already handing her the note with a soft smile and eyes that spoke wisdom over my words, "don't be freaked out."

She didn't freak out. She just looked at me and smiled, and I was convinced I was in. She must've known what was going on, I barely spoke to her and I was giving her a little rough note wrapped in a torn sheet from my sketchbook. She surely acted surprised but I didn't wait for her to open it, I left with pride and jitters. A strange sensation of heat and cold whisked through my nerves and I imagined myself a top the tallest mountain of a far-reaching planet. I was master of my universe and nothing could stop me.

Two days I spent wandering that planet alone, trying to communicate with the species who thought my actions were foreign and absurd, but nonetheless new and captivating. They would give me hope, praising me for my fresh attitude toward romanticizing the one I admired.

It was in the loud mechanical crunching cavern of the metro that I received her reply. The telephone that was invented for voice communications instead had a short letter, it was a welcome one but I knew what it said. The uncertainty in the greeting, the compliment right off the bat, then cut right to the truth/lie: she had a boyfriend.

Fair, it was worth a shot, but then she pulled my string; she "admired my confidence." I know she was trying to be polite, but I can't help but wonder how she knew that it was a courageous act in the first place. Those three words had me wondering who she was.

I replied, to stroke her ego some more, "When I first saw you, I felt you were special, after reading your reply, I know I was right." Being short winded and enigmatic made me believe it would sway her, interest her, make me look mysterious. It made me look like a religiously-enlightened beggar, far too above himself, yet humbled and desperate.

I passed her by in the cafeteria and she veered her eyes to her far left, my right. I didn't say a thing, I knew where we stood. Given her rejection, I was left noticing on the 7th day from the origin of this story, that a full week had passed, indeed, and much had changed. My world had drastically changed, I was now less confident, increasingly alone and ridiculed, and more fearful than I had been in months. As we sat within the class I overheard a conversation she held with another classmate, whom I did not know, but I certainly envied. She never glanced over at me even once, and I did my best to ignore her, but I could not ignore the question she was presented with, "what major are you going in?"

I imagined us as puzzles again, her finding me on the desk, this time among many pieces of puzzle, all forming a picture, but with one piece missing. There were two of us, but only one spot remained and my intuition served me well once again when I realized I needed that spot before she took it. I was too late, because before I knew it, she had lit a fire on my connecting limb. As the flame enveloped me, I watched her sidle in comfortably in the spot of the puzzle that I was intent on completing. The seams between the pieces disappeared and the image became a mirror. They had given me the honour of watching myself become ash; "I'm going into film."


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