We're not the same person. When he mentioned that we're not that different; he and I. It made me want to believe him because I felt like a normal human being at that moment. I felt like he saw me for who I was, and I wanted to cry and smile at him, but the voices in my head were telling me the exact opposite. And I'm practically unknown without them at this point if I were not to believe them. But if only he knew that he's much more different than I am—much more better than I am.

I watch as he walks out of the diner, leaving me standing there, perplexed. Even when I followed him before he bolted, I could tell he wasn't in the mood to communicate at the moment. I could see he was getting anxious as I watched him. His eyes, the way his hands shook, and his voice, unable to form a whole phrase, all spoke volumes. I immediately recognized his eyes because I had the same expression when my family died, and God, if only I could take away the pain that his eyes were conveying the inside of his soul, I would—but I knew I couldn't because I couldn't even take away my own pain that's still leaving me, chasing over to collect these notes from my mother's old, sold paintings all over the city and even far beyond where I'm currently standing still.

So, on the first night of December, I just watched Aaren drive away. I haven't heard from him in six days. I've also not seen him at school, as I try my best not to get so worked up over worrying about him too much. It only gives us seven days—a week—for our project, and I'm at a loss for what to write about him. It only occurred to me now that I know so little about him, and that writing about someone you hardly know but have been hanging out with for the past few months, since school started, is all starting to become strange now.

"You shouldn't worry too much about Aaren," Zania says as she sticks her head inside her locker to arrange her books inside and grabs a few to stuff them inside her bag. "Guys sometimes don't talk about their feelings, maybe he just doesn't feel like opening up yet."

I sighed, "I don't know. But he's not the type of person to just... disappear, you know? It's just weird, that's all." I crossed my arms to my chest as I start to wonder about all the possibilities of what might have happened.

Zania slams her locker, making me jump. "Relax. It's been—what? Six days?"

"Yeah, six days. Six days of no texts, no calls, no anything out of the blue that Aaren would do. Who knows what happened to him?" I could feel my heart sinking at the thought of him gone. "He's like a ghost, you know? He'd be there and then he'd be gone the next. What does that make me?"

"It makes you look like you like him," Zania's lips tug into a half-smile. I look at her as if she's crazy.

"Stop spurring nonsense out of your mouth," I rolled my eyes at her, "Worrying over him doesn't mean I like him. I'm worried for you when you're not home by eight but that doesn't mean I like you!"

Zania places a hand over her chest, "Ouch, that kinda hurt, cuz." She says, almost laughing, earning her a slap on the arm from me. "You worry too much over a guy you barely know, so, what does that make you?"

"A worrier?"

She rolls her eyes at me and the bell starts ringing, almost interrupting our serious conversation.

Zania shrugs, "I mean, I'm just thinking that maybe you like Aaren and aren't aware of it. And, as someone who has been hanging out with another person for much too long, don't you have any feelings for him? Maybe you're having an out-of-the-ordinary sense where you feel as if your chest is going to explode and the idea of him keeps you up at night but you just ignore all of it?"

I gaze at her, almost gasping for air leaving me speechless as I listen to what she has to say.

"Anyway, don't let it all get to you. I could be wrong or you could just be in denial," She says as she starts walking away, "You just worry too much over someone who looks at you as if you're the only person in the room and you can't even look at him the way he does, back."

She blows me a kiss, "Yet again, don't let it all get to you. Tell mom I'll be home by seven, love you!" she says, almost yelling as she skips her way to her next class.

I stood there, trying to process what she had just said. I'd have a greater understanding of what to feel and how I feel. Allowing someone to influence how I feel about someone will prevent me from considering that kind of feeling—being fond of someone. Liking them.

I walked in the other direction of Zania and just thought to myself about what to write in the same manner Elise would have. For a little while, I put aside my worries for Aaren and focused solely on what I might like to write to him. A letter of thanks for helping me with the notes? A love lett—no.

On the way to my next class, I pass by the library and I can't help but think about those times we would hang out in that hidden room. I kind of missed that place.

During study halls, I would occasionally sit inside the hidden room at the back of the library, perhaps waiting for him, assuming that he'd prefer to be there than attend lecture hours and I would be right. We'd exchange thoughts about paintings or his writings from time to time, and a part of me simply enjoys having him there alongside me, co-existing in the quiet.

My phone made a notification sound inside my pocket, so I took it out right away. When I checked the notification, all I saw was a text from Clarissa reminding me of my Saturday appointment with Dr. Nikki, making my tensed muscles slowly die back down to relax.

I stopped texting and calling him after day three of not seeing him and hearing anything back. The last message I'd sent to him was to tell him that I'm just here for him, whatever it is because after all, we're not that different, him and I. I should know because his pain, that night, mirrored the child in me.

***