He keeps watching her and looking away a beat too late. I'd take the cold shoulder as her answer to the staring as much as to the letter.
Memories and Fear
Thought
Thought
He keeps watching her and looking away a beat too late. I'd take the cold shoulder as her answer to the staring as much as to the letter.
Post content
Her linguistic quirks come to the fore when she chats casually with some of the pupils she likes; her intellectual repertoire is evident, but her cheerfulness and enthusiasm when she is being listened to lead her to adopt a casual tone. A few weeks ago, before… that letter; I should have told her about things I know regarding the people around us (so as not to give the impression that I was telling her ‘gossip’, of course). I reckon I did something rather silly to keep the conversation going by mentioning something that had happened to me; her embarrassment was evident, but I managed to smooth things over and earned a smile. Her blush and her delight at having me as her listener, along with the way I looked at her, were obvious—perhaps even too obvious: likely the reason why she won’t look at me today, and when we happen to meet, I’m treated like a stranger.
Those eyes cut right through me. Her disdain for a compliment which I admit came across as cynical – though not intentionally, of course – was… It wasn’t the right moment or the right time for a simple act of boldness; I must say: a stupid one. I still find myself pondering what I ought to say or do about this silence. But here I am once again, watching her. With a tall man with curly hair, whose appearance I shall not describe here; she chats casually with him – who, ironically, has once again become merely her formal work colleague. When he finally left, I could sense her disheartenment (I believe). I ended up staring for far too long; the restless, yet at the same time kind, woman glanced around; realising I was watching her, I looked away as quickly as I could, though I don’t think I was quite quick enough.
‘…How long will I put up with my own audacity?…’, ‘…Sweet blush that robs me of my senses!…’ Just an ill-advised letter, which I admit I wrote too soon; with intentions that were far too intense.
Thoughts
-
He keeps watching her and looking away a beat too late. I'd take the cold shoulder as her answer to the staring as much as to the letter.
-
The curly haired man is the one I keep my eye on. He went back to being just her work colleague and she looked let down when he left, so I doubt the letter is the whole reason she won't look your way. She has her own thing going on.
Related posts
-
The Last Time
“… I can tell the difference between things; I’m not an idiot, but an idiot in love! …”: am I being haunted?
-
Does splitting 'hard' and 'soft' skills make people worse at both?
Hard skills are measurable, specific, and teachable abilities or technical knowledge gained through education, training, or experience, which is often directly related to a particular job or industry. Examples include data analysis, programming, graphic design, accounting, dancing, painting… They are usually the core of a profession, particularly the part of it excluding interaction with other people. On the other hand, soft skills are mostly defined as “personal attributes, interpersonal....
-
Traditional Life and Heritage of Kashmir
The Cultural Beauty of Kashmir...
-
Japanese Lucky Charm
Welcoming luck with an open paw and a grateful heart. May every new day bring success and endless blessings.
-
Does your personality matter far less than you think?
I realize, interacting with students, teenagers and younger co-workers peers that many believe that their personality traits are a leading factor in deciding what do to or how to tackle their own career. Although younger people ask these questions more explicitly, older adults also seem to think along the same lines. I personally find it to be far more irrelevant than most people think. Besides my job, where I observe successful people doing the same role with drastically...
-
The Man, the Hound, the Crow and the Fox
There lived a man with weary feet,
-
The wind is blowing
As she opens the window, the wind starts to blow. The clothes she hung on the threads outside started to fly. A hand picked her favourite white frock. It was a monkey, and it wore the frock and ran away.
-
Sometimes I wonder...
I have thoughts that I can't just seem to stop for my own good. I wake up every day to struggle between the carols of what-ifs ringing in my head.
Public
2 conversations
4 thoughts
32 upvotes
0 downvotes
1 series
Her linguistic quirks come to the fore when she chats casually with some of the pupils she likes; her intellectual repertoire is evident, but her cheerfulness and enthusiasm when she is being…