The You I Know

You always laughed the warmer kind of laugh whenever a joke turned our group discussions into small, shared moments. I don't know where you learned to laugh like that. Your laugh was warmer than a campfire burning in the night. I watched you in secret, longer than I watched the stars shining that evening.

Your beautiful eyes felt so sure of themselves when you spoke. I had never seen that in anyone before. They were like an open door, inviting me to step inside. The picture of a home I had once painted in my head slowly changed its shape, until it became you.

That adorable nose—I wanted to touch it, though I never got the chance. It was cute. I wanted to pinch it now and then, just to watch your sweet face pout and grumble. And if we were ever bound by a promise, I would make it right by holding you close and whispering an apology.

But none of that is what truly made me fall. It was your small steps as you walked into the room in a black-and-white uniform, after quietly taking the transfer exam.

You are beautiful.