《Flower Girl》Twelve

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At this hour of the day, the corridors filled with bookshelves were mostly surrounded by the elderly. When Poire visited every other Saturday, it was usually during the later hours of the morning that she would find somebody remotely close to her age, albeit still a few years older. However, this time around, things were different. As she spotted a young boy, who browsed through the comics section, Poire couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She clutched her Shakespearean poetry closer to her chest and waddled between two shelves in order to inspect the particular specimen in question.

It was hard to tell from this far away, but he seemed to be a little taller than her. As he spoke to the cashier, Poire ogled his charming smile and the way it created tiny dents in his pale cheeks. Who is he? she wondered, wiping a drip of drool from her chin. We barely ever have anyone this dreamy in town.

But unfortunately for Poire, he left as quickly as he’d came, leaving her with the image of him and a burning question that ignited a fire in her chest. Will I ever see him again? she asked herself as she retreated into a further corner of the library and picked up a dozen books she then wasted no time checking out.

It was the next morning when her prayers were answered, as her professor announced to the classroom that a new student would be joining their ranks. “Meet Ivan!” she said, while the boy Poire had thought about all night long stepped into her classroom.

Poire’s little heart did wondrous somersaults in her chest. What a remarkable coincidence! she thought. Could this be what adults mean when they speak of destiny?

Ivan walked over to the empty desk beside Poire’s and took a seat. He turned to her and held out a hand for her to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said, flashing the exact smile that had made Poire’s legs turn to shaking bones the day before.

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Poire’s palms were moist. Her face was hot as she reached out and gripped his skin with her own. She was sure he was going to pull away in disgust, for she could have surely filled up a pond with all her sweat—and yet, he did not.

Instead, he asked her, “What’s your name?”

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