She looks around the room, no signs of him. She sighs and picks up her pen. She then starts to write, just what’s on her mind. She isn’t sure she’ll let him see it one day, but it’s about him. She thinks of how mischievous she’s been lately and flashes a naughty smile on her lips. She touches them fondly. She loves her lips.
She would love to show him what she is writing, but she knows he will scoff at it. He only reads the second line if the first line has physics in it. She then sighs, and wishes she loved physics like he does. Maybe then they’d have more profound topics and deeper conversations. She likes physics alright, but she loves other things. Things he finds trivial. Things related to human relations and mannerisms. Things about love and relationships. Things about romance and sex. She wishes he believed in these things like she does. She loves Maths too. He doesn’t, he finds mathematics such a challenge.
She then shifts her attention to the moment he called her intelligent. But her thoughts are jumbled up. She thinks of how hot and cold he is. Its probably her fault. She told him that she likes a little bit of rejection, little bit of arrogance, little bit of meanness, punctuated appropriately with a few sweet sentiments every once in a while. He delivers. He does all that. And he likes the attention she gives him in return. What he doesn’t know however, is that her preferences are quickly changing. And much as she enjoys some teasing every once in a while, she wants better now. She wants love. She wants peace, she wants acceptance, she wants to feel like a girl, not just like a friend. She wants more. And currently she wants something else, she wants him to touch her like a woman. Caress her nipples with his forefingers. Fondle her breasts. Bite at her nipples, nibble at her lips, kiss her sweetly, rub his body on hers, push her up against the wall and render her helpless. She wants him to kiss her tits, her navel. Touch every inch of her body. She wants him to let her into his world, surrender his body to her. Because she remembers how his nipples felt. How they hardened on her touch.
But he won’t even look at her. He pushes her away, he gets upset. And she coils inside. And she wants him to notice how much he is hurting her. He doesn’t. He thinks that is what she likes. So she can’t help but visualize the end. She knows how this goes and how it ends. She’s been through it severally before. She calls it the vectors of destruction. She knows it’ll end soon when this seminar ends. She wishes he could loose his calm one day and dare to kiss her. It would interest her, the knowledge that someone could walk in at any moment. She wishes he was sneaky and mischievous. She wishes he would give her something to remember him by. To be honest, she isn’t sure she is over her previous love interest yet. She knows she’ll crave for his touch when they meet again. But the guy hurt her, and so she is trying to run away. Maybe this guy knows it. That he’ll only be a place holder if he decides to grant her wishes. That must be it! He is afraid! Afraid of being hurt. The small vulnerable boy behind him doesn’t want to come out. She suddenly gets a rush of adrenaline. Is she suddenly solving the mystery behind all of this? Is that what he hides behind the misogynistic arrogant shell? Is that why he declares himself a self-proclaimed psychopath? Is that why he pushes her away? ‘Cause he is scared? Now this tickles her. Just then, someone calls out her name. She jolts from her reverie. It’s not him. Duty calls and she has to go. But she knows she’ll be back, thinking of him, after completing her tasks. She wonders if he thinks of her too. Though she knows he does.