Scarred By Past Wounds

"Hey! Wait, listen!" He hurried after me, his urgency palpable. Exasperated, I halted and shot him a furious glare.

"What do you want now!?" I snapped, my patience wearing thin.

"I want to talk to you!" he replied earnestly.

"But I don't!" I turned to leave, but he moved swiftly to intercept me, blocking my path.

"May I ask why?" he inquired, his expression earnest.

"No, I'm not answerable to you!" I responded sharply, fixing him with an intense stare.

"Are you kidding me?" he exclaimed, clearly taken aback.

"Why would I?" I retorted, my frustration mounting.

"No, I thought maybe you were trying to bully me or something," he confessed, his tone softening.

"Oh, come on! I'm not capable of such behavior!" I dismissed his concern with a wave of my hand.

"Good. So, can we sit down and talk over a cup of tea?" he suggested tentatively.

I hesitated to decline his invitation, but his earnestness, coupled with that endearing puppy-dog expression, melted my resolve. How could I say no to him?

"Okay," I relented, unable to resist his charm.

"Thank God!" he exclaimed, his smile lighting up his face.

Together, we made our way to the cafeteria, finding it surprisingly empty. He pulled out a chair for me, and I settled into it comfortably while he took a seat opposite me.

"So," he began, prompting me to start the conversation.

"So?" I echoed, awaiting his lead.

"What would you like to talk about?" he asked, but before I could respond, he suggested ordering first.

I sensed a shift in the conversation, feeling as though he was stalling for time, unsure of what to say. Interrupting him before he could call the waiter, I decided to cut to the chase.

"Look, I have other obligations too. If you have something to discuss, please do so. Otherwise, I'll be leaving," I stated bluntly, unwilling to waste any more time.

"Hey, relax. I understand you're busy, just like me," he reassured me, his demeanor surprisingly nonchalant.

As the waiter approached, dressed in his yellow uniform with a red apron tied around his waist, my attention shifted back to my companion. I couldn't help but notice his features: the strong jawline, the square chin, his fine lips, and those captivating hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight filtering through the windows.

He ordered two cups of tea and chocolate brownies, all the while, I found myself captivated by his presence, unable to shake the thought of how handsome he truly was. Perhaps, with time, he would only grow more refined.

His light brown hair fell across his forehead, and I found myself captivated by the way he would occasionally brush them aside. Without realizing it, I had ascended the mountain of my own expectations, finding myself admiring him more with each passing moment. It was as if I had developed a crush on him, something I had been actively avoiding lately. I had made a conscious effort to distance myself from boys, especially those I found myself growing fond of.

As he turned back to face me once the waiter left with our order, I struggled to tear my gaze away from him. I didn't want to give him the impression that I was admiring him while he was unaware, yet I felt a strange pull drawing me closer to him. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't resist the urge to keep looking at him.

When our eyes finally met, neither of us spoke, and I found myself unable to break the intense gaze. For a moment, I forgot the self-imposed rules I had set for myself upon entering college. All that mattered was the connection we shared in that fleeting moment.

It was only when the waiter arrived with our tea that our eye contact was interrupted. In that moment, a wave of shame washed over me, and I felt a deep sense of embarrassment.

"What have I been doing?" I chastised myself silently.

"What have I been thinking?"

I couldn't recall. All I knew was that he was looking at me with a gentle smile, which only heightened my embarrassment.

The waiter left, leaving just the two of us. His eyes remained fixed on me, a peculiar smile playing on his lips.

"What are you smiling at?" I questioned, puzzled by his amusement.

He chuckled before replying, "Nothing, it's just a habit of mine. You'll often find me smiling or laughing."

"Okay. Let's get to the point then. I'm eager to hear what you have to say," I interjected, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"I can tell. You seem quite eager," he remarked with a slight laugh.

His comment irked me, and I felt the urge to walk away. I couldn't discern what impression he had formed of me while I had been staring at him earlier, but whatever it was, I knew it was wrong.

"I'm getting to it," he assured me, his eyes meeting mine. I didn't know what I expected to hear from him; I was simply curious, or perhaps I just wanted an excuse to escape. But as he spoke, I felt butterflies fluttering in my stomach, a sensation I didn't welcome at that moment.

A part of me was drawn to him, while another part urged me to flee, making it difficult to remain in his presence and listen to what he had to say.

"Why did you avoid me?" he questioned, his tone gentle yet probing.

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "What do you mean?" I deflected, buying myself some time.

"You know exactly what I mean," he persisted. "You ignored me in class, didn't talk to me, and then hurriedly left when the period ended. It felt like you were trying to escape from something. Is there something bothering you?"

His words hung in the air, and I found myself grappling with the decision of whether to open up about my past. Should I tell him about the pain and heartache I had endured, which had led me to build walls around my heart?

As he awaited my response, I remained silent, wrestling with conflicting emotions. Sitting beside him, I was inundated with questions, yet no suitable answers presented themselves. Could I admit to him that I was drawn to him, yet fearful of letting anyone else into my life after the hurt I had endured?

"No, you're mistaken. There's nothing like that," I finally replied, the words feeling hollow even as they left my lips.

"Are you sure?" he pressed, his gaze searching mine for any sign of hesitation.

Part of me yearned to confess the truth, to acknowledge that he had seen through my facade and understood the turmoil within me. But another part, the part scarred by past wounds, urged me to maintain my distance and protect myself from further pain.

"Yes, I'm sure," I asserted, taking a sip of my tea to mask the uncertainty in my voice. "Thanks for your concern."

His response was noncommittal, and I sensed that he wasn't entirely convinced by my words. It was as if he could see through the facade I had carefully constructed, discerning the vulnerability hidden beneath.

Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I made a hasty exit, finishing my tea in one gulp before walking away. As I left, I couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that washed over me. I couldn't afford to let another boy into my life, risking further harm to the fragile remnants of my heart.