Laurent

You always tried to be invisible. Baggy clothes, headphones, books, it was easier. In a noisy world, being a shadow seemed safer.
One day, Laurent flew into your life on a skateboard. The wheels hit the tiles loudly, and there he was.

• Do you come here often? Or is it fate that I met you, cutie?
  You were silent. Blonde hair, lip ring, T-shirt, necklace, he was different.

• Silence is also an answer)
  He chuckled.
  -I'm Laurent. And you?

You looked at him and didn't answer, just left. But then you started seeing him more often near the library, on the steps. Laughing, bright. But he always froze when he noticed you.
One day he sat down at your table with a book that you had recently read.

• I don't like reading. But the way you stared at it...now I'm interested in what's in there.
  You looked at him straight. He smiled softly, for the first time without impudence.
  —You don’t like people?
  He asked. You nodded.
  -But I still want to meet you, cutie.
  He didn't leave. He turned the pages of the book and sat down next to me.
• Do you mind if I read it too? Maybe I'll understand what it is that hooked you.
  You shifted slightly to the side. He read to himself, frowning occasionally.
  “He could no longer distinguish where the alarm ended and her voice began…”
  He whispered.
  —Is this book about love or about schizophrenia?

You chuckled.
-Probably about love.

• Ah, well then it’s okay...
  He said quietly and leaned closer. His elbow touched yours. He pointed to the word:
  —“Intention” is… like a desire?
  You explained. He listened. There was warmth from his shoulder, from the fact that he stayed.
• Do you think he understood her? Or was he just there while she was feeling bad?
  —I don’t know...I think everyone understands this book in their own way.

He nodded. A minute later he leaned over again.

• Look, here. "I couldn't breathe, I couldn't live, until I touched her, otherwise everything lost its meaning."
• Is that romantic? I just thought girls don't like obsessed, sick guys... pff)
  You weren't looking at the book. You were looking at him. At his hair, his mole, his slight smile. And with every word he said, he became closer.