Silver

The daze held me cold. 

Like a dream too real, it blurred the bridge of reality...

...and memory.

__________

Voices of my peers filled the air in playful cries. My mother gently pushed me forward, ushering me away, eager to converse with the other parents.

I didn't want to cause her trouble.

As I sat on the swing, carefully in her view across the playground, a laugh escaped me. Some of the other kids briefly turned to the abrupt noise before resuming their fun on slides and sand. 

I glanced at my mother once more, my small hands tight around plastic coated chains that held my seat barely above the ground. 

She was in her own world, rendering the effort to stay in her view meaningless, as she smiled and laughed with her friends.

I sighed.

Even at the tender age of five, I felt a disconnect with those around me. No matter how many times I was brought to the same place, I behaved myself, and kept to my self. 

Buds of white fell from looming trees around the park. I found myself in the sand. 

The fresh spring air lightly brushed my cheeks.

Markings of glyphs and symbols posing as art were carved in the sand around me. 

I wiped the sand from my fingers on my shirt, just as a bud swayed downward in front of me.  My eyes followed its descent before ignoring it completely, shifting my focus beyond it. With widened eyes, I saw them.

Eyes as silver as the moon.

They peeked behind hanging strands of black which had escaped the pink beanie on her head. 

She held her mother's hand as they approached the park. Even the adults paused to stare, both in curiosity and envy. 

The two looked almost identical. If not for their clear difference in years, I would mistake them for the same person.  

I knew then as I watched them, that something within me began to stir.

And...

The moment she looked my way, the world started to blur.

Everything faded into darkness.

Then, my eyes blinked open. 

__________

Sunlight cracked through dark curtains.

An alarm rang somewhere under me, vibrating within the sheets.

However, what really grabbed my attention was finding a hand raised toward the ceiling. It was as if it was reaching for something that no longer existed. 

I brought it down toward my face, wiping the remnants of sleep that lingered. 

As I lifted myself upright, my legs dangled over the edge of the bed. My fingers sifted through the sheets behind me, pulling out my phone. 

I glanced ahead at my partially lit room, ignoring the device's quivers for attention.

An open closet lay before me on the other side. Countless boxes lay stacked on the floor inside. Each box housed countless sketchbooks—the efforts of years of discipline and dedication.

A well-tailored uniform hung on the open door.

Even though I couldn't remember why I started drawing, one thing I knew for sure...

Today was my first day of high school.

I pressed the alarm off, and stood.

It was time to get ready.

__________

The morning sun gazed down with purpose.

The murmur of hundreds began to echo with each step I placed forward.

My focus lay on the open sketchbook pressed at its bottom to my chest. My pencil moved seamlessly, as if it was the wind itself moving it.

A new bag hung over my shoulder—a gift from my mother to commemorate this big day.

After all, the school that started to come into view in pieces through blooming trees was for the elite. 

It was simple. 

Staying close to the top of my class would avoid troubling her. This also gave me the freedom to sketch—to draw the very things I always found interesting. 

Eyes.

Even if I didn't remember why.

As countless seasons came and went, each stroke brought to life faded in meaning. Now, it had reached the point where I raised a pen solely out of habit. 

As the gates fell into view, my focus lingered on the paper in front of me. The sidewalk rolled back under my feet behind it—the only motion I couldn't ignore.

So, I didn't look up.

With a sharp pain, I found myself trying to catch my falling book. 

There was no wall in front of me.

Instead, a few steps before the gate, a girl stood facing the other way.

She spun toward my direction. I thought she was probably ready to complain about the collision. 

I debated the idea of giving her a piece of my mind first, until she lowered herself and offered me the fallen sketchbook.

I think she muttered something, maybe an apology, but it fell on deaf ears.

Her eyes had lifted to mine, instantly soothing me.

Instead, emotions I thought long had numbed started to well inside me.

At that moment, I wanted to speak—to shout out it wasn't her fault and that I wasn't looking in front of me. However, before I could, she brushed her uniform with delicate hands and brought down a light bow. 

I stood there, speechless, as she turned away toward the building.

__________

The gymnasium was surprisingly large. 

My initial thought was how many different sports could be played in the space at one time.

Thankfully, the scent of fresh polish covered years' worth of use.

A makeshift stage, clearly put up beforehand, loomed over the massive student body of fresh years. Atop its surface, a podium centered. Chairs filled with faculty members of hierarchical importance waited for their chance to speak or be introduced.

My mind wasn't in the ceremony.

I did my best, slightly stretching myself, to scan the students around me.

She wasn't there.

Or so I thought...

...until the highest entrance exam performer was called up.

She lifted from her seat near the front, making her way to the side of the platform and carefully climbing its steps.

The air shifted with her steps.

Whispers of awe and envy briefly broke within the crowd.

As she introduced herself to us, I couldn't stop staring at them—the same glossy eyes I saw not too long ago. 

As they glistened like moonlight over the students, I found myself zoned out completely. My fingers twitched faintly, drawing invisible strokes with a pen that wasn't there. 

Then she bowed, and started back toward the stairs.

The headmaster said his final words and wished the student body well at the school.

The crowd of students dispersed in a dignified file—ushered by staff on each side.

The school’s bell echoed off the high walls of the gymnasium, signaling the end of the ceremony and the beginning of the day.

Having lost sight of her in the crowd, I silently followed the masses toward the lecture halls.

__________

I walked through the door of my class and squinted.

My feet paused so my eyes could adjust to the lights. 

The room was large. Spaced out seats lined in even rows and columns, facing toward a large blackboard.

Many of my classmates had already chosen their seats. 

Some stood by the desk of others, introducing themselves. A lucky few cheered as old friends were lucky enough to be in the same class.

I caught an empty spot near the window and silently hurried toward it. Lifting my bag off my back, I slid into the seat and pulled out my sketchbook.

It refused to close as a page was visibly bent within.

The events of the morning replayed in my mind as I turned to the disturbed page and used my hand to lightly brush off the dirt that had attached to it.

As I placed pressure with my palm on the crease to flatten it, the air shifted at the door.

She walked in, ethereal and captivating.

The room stilled to an awkward calm. 

Whispers of disbelief were the first sounds to break the silence.

I stared. 

She looked my way. 

An expression of curious familiarity warmed her face. Outside glares pierced our extended stare, warranting questions about my identity under their breath.

Time seemed to have stopped. Or rather, it felt like it continued after having been stopped. 

She broke off the connection first, shifting her gaze to an available desk at the front. 

My fingers instinctively pulled out a pencil and flipped to the next open page in the sketchbook.

The ball of the pencil pressed against the paper, frozen in place. It was almost as if my hand had lost all confidence in the skill it had taken years to perfect.

It was only a coincidence I told myself.

I couldn't believe...

...she was in my class.