Tom K. —“Stolen glances”

I always liked to get involved in things I shouldn't: being in places I wasn't supposed to be, talking to people I wasn't supposed to associate with, according to others.

I live a little far from the city with my family, almost in the countryside, in a small town. Near my house, a few blocks away, there used to be an orphanage. One of those that from the outside looks like Miss Peregrine's house, with nuns who seem to have a hundred eyes, each one focused on every child who steps foot in there.

I always passed by there on my bike to school. Every morning I saw the same girl: old-fashioned, pretty, a little strange. I never saw her grounded like some of the girls there, so I assumed she was the good little girl.

Over time, she started to notice me. She smiled at me, waved a few times, we shared glances... Until we started talking. I'd stop the bike, leave it on the ground, and she'd approach the fence that separated us. We'd talk for ten minutes at most, then she'd leave so she wouldn't get scolded for talking to strange boys. And I'd stare at her like an idiot, almost drooling.

I told my friends at school about her. They told me it was a bad idea, that it would get us both into unnecessary trouble, but I didn't listen. By that point, I was totally hooked on her.

One night, I decided to write her a poem. She'd told me she liked them. The idea was for it to be romantic, to express everything I felt for her, but I ended up sounding like a desperate pervert. Still, I decided to give it to her.

I bought a chocolate bar, picked the prettiest flower I saw in my mom's garden, and gave it to her the next morning, with the poem folded and tied to the flower.

— I stayed up all night writing that poem for you, darling.

I said proudly, looking at her through the bars as she opened the little piece of paper.

૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა (This is an emoticon and doesn't translate directly. It's a cute, happy face.)