When I first laid eyes on you you were boringly taking notes. It was a few years ago, 3 maybe, and you were all focused on whatever area of law you were studying, with your hair up in a messy bun, not caring at all if it was neat or if you looked like a crazy person in need of a serious make over. You had no make up on from what I could tell, you weren’t wearing heals like some of the girls surrounding you and you weren’t looking up from what you were doing, apparently unbothered by the stares that you were obtaining from me and my friends from the table right across yours. I wanted to talk to you then, but I didn’t. And you became my enigma.
But I forgot about you, until a few months ago when you walked in the library area, a lot thinner and a lot messier than I remembered you. But what took me by surprise and made me want to jump and hug you and tell you that whatever was bothering you was going to be ok, were your eyes. I remembered your eyes from the last time I saw you because no one would ever forget something so expressive and pure. So beautiful. I know now that you hate that word, but it’s the truth. When I saw you for the second time though your eyes were screaming death and sadness, and I wondered if you’d let me make whatever was making you mourn go away. But then again, the pull I was feeling towards you was broken when I could sense the barriers and walls that you were wearing as protection like they had materialised in front of me. Do not bother me. Your body was screaming. So I didn’t. I just looked at you, daydreaming of things to tell you, about how old you were, what were you doing here and what was making you so miserable. This time you didn’t seem focused, and for sure you didn’t seem bored. You stared at your notes like they were written in some foreing language and looked at your phone every 5 minutes to put it away a second later with anger and distress. And after an hour of a fight against your will, you got up and took off like the place was in flames.
It was a friday morning when I first talked to you. You were in the hallway, looking down and writing furiously on a small notepad. I stopped in my tracks because I honestly didn’t know what to do, and I was fighting against myself wondering if approaching you was a very lame thing to do. But then you looked up, directly at me. My expression must have given away what I thought the second I saw your mascara all over your face and your red eyes, because you tried to hide your face with your hair and pretend that you were invisible and that our eye encounter had never happened. I was not taking it this time. I sat beside you and felt you getting a few inches away from me. I asked if you were alright, and you said the biggest and fatest lie… and the only one I’ve heard you say since then:
[ All errors, spelling mistakes etc are entirely mine. I had to translate the email my friend sent me and I really tried my best, eventhough I still believe I didn’t capture the feelings and the ambience described by him on the original fragment that he emailed me. This is just the first part of the email. I thought it would be too much to put all in one post so I’m dividing it. He’s narrating how we met… and the reason behind the email is revealed in the second part. I’m just so extremely glad that I have the honor to be friends and be surrounded by amazing people like him… I’m so surprised by this, that for once, I’m actually speechless.]