Her again?
Lunch was the same as it always was—a loud, bustling backdrop of noise I pretended to tune out. My fork idly pushed at the food on my plate, but my thoughts were elsewhere. The world felt distant, as if I were separated from it by an invisible barrier no one else could see.
Then, I heard her voice.
“Liliana?”
I froze mid-motion, my fork clinking softly against the plate. It was her. Rosetta.
Her voice was unmistakable, smooth and warm like honey in tea, and I found myself looking up before I even realized it. She stood there, radiant as always, with her easy smile and that slight tilt of her head she always did when she spoke.
Rosetta wasn’t just a person to me. She was something larger than life, something divine. She was the sun, shining brightly in a way that demanded attention, while I was the moon, dimly reflecting her glow from afar.
“Can I sit here?” she asked, not waiting for an answer before sliding into the seat across from me.
I nodded, unsure if my voice would betray me.
She began to talk—about her morning, how her dog had knocked over her breakfast, and how she ended up running late to school. It was such a mundane story, yet I hung on to every word as if it were gospel. I noticed everything—the way she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the way her fingers danced over the table when she spoke.
“How about you?” she asked, her hazel eyes locking onto mine. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine,” I said quickly, almost instinctively. The truth felt too heavy to bring into her world.
Her laugh was soft and melodic, like a songbird in the middle of chaos. “That’s good. I was worried I upset you or something. You’ve been so quiet lately.”
Upset? The idea seemed absurd. How could someone like her, so effortlessly perfect, upset someone like me? She was untouchable, like a goddess walking among mortals. If she ever thought of me, it was likely fleeting, the way someone might notice a passing cloud.
“No, not upset,” I said quietly, forcing a small smile. “Just... busy.”
She seemed satisfied with my answer, her smile brightening in a way that made my chest ache. “I’m glad. I’d hate for you to think I didn’t care. You’re always so sweet, Liliana.”
Sweet. The word felt like a label, something safe and distant, as if I were a harmless background character in her story.
When the bell rang, she stood, grabbing her tray. “We should hang out soon,” she said, her words lingering like a promise I knew she wouldn’t keep.
I nodded again, my throat too tight to speak.
As she walked away, her laughter mixed with the hum of the cafeteria, I couldn’t help but watch her go. She was the kind of person you couldn’t ignore, someone who left a mark even in the smallest moments.
I replayed her words in my head, committing them to memory like a prayer. Her story about her dog, the way she laughed, the way she smiled—every detail felt precious, like shards of light in my otherwise shadowed world.
Rosetta was untouchable, a goddess in every sense of the word. And I was just me—a mortal king, a girl weighed down by masks and responsibilities. We existed in the same world but lived in completely different perspectives.
She was so close, yet so far. Always out of reach, yet I couldn’t help but keep reaching anyway.