‘An Unusual Person’ by Malaika Arshad

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There he sat, on the bench- his final disposition. His tousled, short hair covered his eyes, as he peeked through a portal located in his peculiar mind, leading him into a world of his own. Eyes squinting, he rested there, unaware of his surroundings; unaware of how I had been glaring at him for the past minutes, appreciating his existence.

God, something about him was oh-so captivating. I pondered to figure out what though, I mean, his looks were not those of a hunk who women would follow around. He was tall; tall for me, at least. His build was strong, yet he was not buff. Quite often engaged in his thoughts, he would purse his pink, plump lips, sending a trickle down my spine. He was somehow beautiful to me, yet physical appearance to him was not a worry, since his shiny, black locks were roughened and his untucked collar shirt was creased and unbuttoned.

It was during a free class today that I observed him. Call me a creep, but keeping my eyes off him seemed impossible. Even whilst I was among people, short glimpses at him were essential. He continued reading a book which lay open on the table as he yawned, his back leaning against the pillar that stood behind him.

Moment later some lad of around his age joined him as he got up to greet him with a half, shoulder-to-shoulder hug- an adolescent’s typical ‘cool’ demeanor. Unique, mysterious and interesting, he was a man of a few words. His thoughts were reserved and being alone and isolated did not seem to bother him. I could recall seeing him around a lot; the best of the memories was of him playing the keyboard: his fingers skimming over the keys so beautifully, so softly, reminding me of how silk has that indescribable flow to it. Sometimes, we perform certain tasks to escape the bitter reality one is tired of facing; to kill time. Perhaps playing the keyboard was his.

He smirked while chatting with his supposed friend. One could tell the guy’s company was liked by him, his gleaming eyes growing wider and bigger as he spoke. The way he spoke was so polite and soft that just hearing him could calm and soothe you. He rubbed his palms against his thighs- what I do when they sweat.

He was unusual, the lone wolf. Talking to him excited me, he made me wonder. He was like a precious book which not everyone got the chance to read. I felt immensely lucky, for he let me in his private life. Yes, we were friends, quite close friends. But I liked looking at him from a distance.

About froebelianwriters

I am an English Language teacher teaching O'Levels Edexcel and CIE A Levels at Froebel's International School, Islamabad. I am also working as a Subject Specialist Literacy consultant for the same school. Writing and reading has always been a passion and I try my utmost to instill these habits and hobbies in my students as well. I can be reached/contacted at fabbas227@hotmail.com or 03365287335 Happy reading!

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