The Observer

The straight posture and the calmness radiating off her like the cool sea breeze.

The radiant smile and shyness giving her various shades of cuteness.

Her eyes, matched with the brown braids twisted on her head, screamed beauty and kindness.

Everything about her gave a welcoming vibe.

And the absence of an encased intelligence device, left opportunity for small talk.

Her voice was a soft treble and as pleasant as my favourite artiste.

My name rolling off her tongue was like music to my ears, and she had no problem saying it.

But hers, one letter short of mine, was a task I had to work on.

She remained quiet and doodled on her notepad, like the introvert I deciphered she was.

I studied her quietly from beneath my glasses,

The way her hand moved, creating fine strokes on the white sheet beneath them.

Her gaze flitting between the desk and the projector.

The depression on her cheeks, as she pushed her lips inward, pressed against each other while in concentration.

The soft giggles that escaped her mouth, at the words of her friend beside her.

She was the definition of unmeasured beauty.

And happened to be the first person I spoke to upon arriving.

There had to be more to the shy exterior, and I was keen on seeing past it.

First things first, I needed to be accepted as a friend,

Not just a memory made and trapped in a spun web of minutes.

I got her note before she left.

It was a medium to see and speak to her up close again.

And a proof that she was not a figment of my imagination.

Or part of a daydream that I’d wake up from.

—I’m still daydreaming and I don’t like the idea of waking up soon.

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