Infatuation

The first time I saw him was back in first semester when me and my friend were walking to lectures one morning. A bright bundle of orange hair came and tapped my friend on the shoulder. She said hi and they exchanged a few pleasantries and I was introduced to him. He is one of those who stands out in a crowd and leaves an impression on anyone that sees him. I smiled politely while trying to take in the sight before my eyes. Pale in complexion, he was tall, but not so tall as to be intimidating to my 5 foot 2 inches. He was thin but not starved looking and had the brightest most beautiful ginger hair, I had ever seen. Bright was the early morning sun but despite that, his hair shone like a new star, catching the light and making everything else around it appear dull and insignificant. I was awed by him, he caught my attention and I was intrigued to learn more about him. Though he paid little attention to me and was talking to my friend.

He had interesting fashion. He was what my parents would call a hippy. With wild hair and baggy clothing, he was distinctive in every definition of the word. Sometimes he would plait a few strands of his hair and wear bracelets and bangles. some girls told me he once had his nails painted. He didn’t conform to the chinos and hoody that is the trademark for most guys my age at university. He was unique and he was happy like that. I got to speak to him a couple of times. We had a couple of classes together and once he sat with me and I was like a teenage girl who had just met her idol. I was shy but polite. I listened intently to every word that he was saying drinking in each word like they were liquid gold. He spoke with a mild Manchester accent. Sometimes he would get close to me. A couple of times, when we were looking at the same specimen in anatomy, he would lean towards me and his hair would brush against my face. Each time, I would catch my breath and could feel my heart hammering against my chest. I would feel my cheeks inflame terrified that it would give me away. I was mesmerised by him. 

Not only was he quirky on the outside but his personality matched his appearance. He had a really strange sense of humour and could make me laugh with every word. He is so unpredictable and the fact that I couldn’t figure him out just made him even more interesting in my eyes. The way he walked with laid back confidence. If I saw him in the library, every now and then I would lift my gaze to catch a glimpse of him across the room, eyes focussed on the book he was reading, his forehead screwed in concentration, one hand in his beautiful hair.

“O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!”

William Shakespeare

I was never one to quote from romance literature. But this quote perfectly summed up that moment for me. This quote is from Romeo and Juliet by the way. That was one of the quotes from that play that I remember well from all those years ago when we studied it in English. I remember thinking that’s a bit dramatic but that was the first thing that popped into my mind when I saw him that time in the library. I would probably substitute cheek with hair though.