He didn't, She left

 Busy streets and busy lives.

That was the reality that She learned to live with; the reality as numbing as the cold and the winds in the early morning at the bus stop outside the train station. She would get in a bad mood if She arrived at the stop at even a little later than five past eight. She would love to have a morning hot chocolate every morning to wake and warm Her but the, although generous, allowance that Her mother gave to Her each week would not allow Her suck luxuries. She could just get use to the cold, She often thought to Herself, but Her shivering heart knew that was not true. The seasons made little or no difference to these mornings.

“Blast what the news says,” She often cursed to herself, “Global warming isn't coming, the next ice age is.”

She often thought that She survived another version of the ice age though. People had begun to turn cold to Her at Her old school when She was the only third grader to get into an extension maths class. It was such a wonder why that small accomplishment affected those around Her so much. People often descried the school playground as a battlefield; the one who hits the hardest is the winner. For Her, it was more like a zombie apocalypse. The zombies were the mean ones. All you had to do was not get bitten or hurt. But apparently being a zombie wasn’t so bad either – all the zombies moved on to high school didn’t regret a single thought or act of hatred they had thought or executed. But She had gotten hurt before. She worked hard to escape that catastrophic world. She was successful in doing so. But something did make Her a little reluctant to leave that school behind.

She saw another one this morning – one that looked a little lost, rather like her. She imagined what she would say to that one.

“Hello. How do you do? I’m good, thank you. Oh, nothing really – just dabbling in a little reading and writing. Nothing that great or interesting.”

It was part of a routine for Her to warm her heart up a little – something that hot chocolate cannot do. She hates reading romance yet She seems to be chasing it every day. She is a pretty good; some people cannot seem to bear to read the books She’s fond of. Yet She cannot seem to be able to read herself. She once had an eye on somebody more than She should have. She wouldn’t and couldn’t explain why to anybody. She is not good at explaining herself with clarity and was often too scared to anyway.

At her old school She had taken to fancy this small boy. Yet She never saw anything in him, she just had wanted someone to like – it did not matter who as long as it wasn't Him!

It was such a mystery to Her at the time why other girls around Her fancied Him. Others often spoke of His “cute” appearance. She certainly did not take any notice of His appearance – She only knew He had brown eyes when it was one and a half years after She had last saw him when someone had pointed it out to Her! That was a bullet that had missed Her and thus She began muse that She would be the only never to have liked Him.

She was wrong.

One day, eight hellos and two more months on top was all it took.

That one day was at a camp. Free time before dinner meant a pseudonymous love letter at the cabin doors. There was one at every single girls’ cabin. Chaos ensued. He trusted Her enough to tell Her that He wrote the letters. He trusted Her not to tell anyone. She didn't. After dinner He begged her to play a little piano while on his knees. She did and He complimented her; something that has never happened before. After that camp He said hi to Her eight time but would be gone before She could reply. She told someone she had trusted at the time about His unusual behaviour. That person told Her that He might have liked her. For the next two months She would pace back and forth thinking about the possibility of being admired for once. She wanted to investigate though – just to be sure. And it be that investigation she would get shot by the bullet she did not see coming. But alas! It was never true, for He had fancied someone else. From then on, she kept chasing others for Her to keep but it was in vain.

And after She left that school, She never saw Him again.

She asks a friend about Him. The friend replies. He likes one who was a zombie and still is in Her apocalyptic world. Life is unfair; that thing does not deserve His admiration.

“Maybe you should try to get over Him now,” Her friend says gently,” Move on.”

“I can’t,” She says to Her dearest wise friend, “I have been trying this entire time.”

She had tried writing a story on him – the truth distorted with Her despairing fantasies and desires, and what she wishes did happen. It did not work and made Her feel more worse than before.

They say it takes three months for one to actually fall in love. If She is indeed in love, blocking Him out with the sounds of busy streets and busy lives will not help Her fall out of it.