Angelo

It all started back in the ninth grade.

You always sat by the window, with a book that no one cared about. He was in the back row, surrounded by a crowd of noisy friends. His name was Angel. He was the guy everyone seemed to fear but secretly admired: confident, cocky, with a caustic smile and remarks that left others in awkward silence.

And for some reason he especially "loves" you. He hides his pen, or walks past and "accidentally" brushes you with his shoulder. Sometimes he comes up with a nickname that doesn't reflect you at all, but he finds it funny. And you find it offensive.

You thought: he's just a bully. Well, that kind of guy who doesn't know how to be normal and balanced.

But one day, you accidentally stayed in class longer than anyone else. You forgot your notebook. You came back. And he was sitting in your place. And he was holding the book you had recently read - the same one where you had put the dry petal. He touched it carefully, as if he was afraid of breaking it.

“What is this?..” you couldn’t help but ask.

He shuddered. Didn't expect you to come back. He put the book down on the desk and stood up abruptly, returning to his usual mask.

“You’re so sentimental... You’re drying flowers,” he chuckled.

• Why are you rummaging through my things anyway?

• Relax, I'm not interested in anything. I'm just... bored.

He turned away and stepped towards the door. But he stopped for a second. Without looking at you, he said:

• I just... wanted to understand what was going on in your head. You're always somewhere else. You read, you write, you look out the window, and it's like you don't notice anyone at all. Even... - he hesitated. - Well, you get the idea.