It all started during Freshers’ Week at university. I probably saw literally thousands of people that day, but she stood out, so remarkable and so easy to distinguish in the crowd. Her aura almost pulled me toward her.
That baddie really captured all my attention; I almost forgot about the information session content. All I did was steal glances at her from time to time. She noticed me staring and smiled. Well, how could that svelte figure with such an innocent face pull off that playful, teasing, almost provocative smile? And to be honest, that was a dream combination to me, a real proof that God exists. Otherwise, how else to explain that concentration of beauty and charm?
Her clothes were so casual though, really simple, but she kept drawing all the attention. It felt like she wasn’t dressed in all her elegance by accident: just enough to stir a little jealousy among the other girls.
I couldn’t get her out of my head until the fall semester started. And you know what? When you really want something, the whole universe conspires in your favor. She was my classmate. She had already befriended another girl, a really average one. You know those kinds of girls’ friendships that usually don’t end well.
We kept stealing looks at each other, and it became obvious that something was brewing. I was on the edge of saying, “Hey beautiful, what’s your name?” Well, I was still just imagining it, and in the meantime, she actually got closer and asked with a sly smile, “My friend wants to sit next to you during this session. What do you think?”
What a deception. I don’t really care about your friend, bitch! Or maybe it was her way of starting a little conversation with me. Not even sure, but the eyes never lie, you know. I don’t know how I found the courage to speak, since I’m usually more shy: “Sit down. It’s you I want next to me today.”
Well, I couldn’t be mistaken, and she couldn’t hide it: that smile was back, sharp and knowing. It was kind of obvious to me: her friend liked me too, and she had to subtly assert herself, block the way, maybe throw a little test to see if I still favored her. You know how some baddies aren’t always 100 percent confident. Probably that’s why she started the conversation. She sat down, and we started writing a few words on paper. My name, hers. Where we’re from, emails, and so on. You know all that stuff, except the cliché of our favorite colors and dishes.
Chantal. Her name was Chantal, and I later learned her favorite color was light purple. Kinda popular among similar Barbie girl profiles.