He isn't here today, and I feel empty. It hits me how much he has started to become the reason I enjoy coming to the library, and that isn't supposed to happen. I come here for myself, for the calm and quiet, to sit and read or write. The thought that he's slowly becoming my reason for being here unsettles me. This is supposed to be a casual crush, nothing more.
If he comes, great, I enjoy my day knowing I'll see him. If not, I should still be able to enjoy my day as usual. But now it's different. When he doesn't come, it feels like there's no reason for me to be here at all. I don't enjoy it anymore. I know this is bad, so I start writing to figure out what's going on and how to fix it.
I realise I've started coming here only for him. I don't want to miss the chance of seeing him, and somehow I'm becoming obsessed. Too obsessed. It isn't even infatuation anymore. The strangest part is that half the time I can't even recognise him without my glasses. That should tell me enough, I don't actually like him, I like the idea of him. And that's dangerous, because he could be anyone, and I'm ignoring it.
I know I'm only seeing the good parts. In my eyes, he has become exactly what I always want: the quiet, calm type. He reminds me of someone I lost before, and I don't want to lose my chance again. It's embarrassing how desperate I am. I keep making trips outside, hoping to see him, and every time he isn't there, I still convince myself he might come.
It has been so long since I've wanted someone this badly. It's scary how consuming it is. With my old crush, I knew marriage wasn't possible, but with him, I actually want it. He even likes nature, goes to the park every day. How could I not like him? Though I've noticed he's always either sleeping or staring into space when he's here—a natural airhead, I presume.
And the worst part? I've always liked people like that. It reminds me of my best friend back in college. That calmness is so attractive. I can't stop making up little stories about him, imagining happy endings, even sad ones, just to make sense of what I feel. I even make silly hypotheses, maybe he doesn't come today because his driver isn't around. He really does give off spoiled prince vibes, and I live for it. He is my latest obsession.
Today, I sit in the café reading Rumi's poetry. I place myself in front of him, book open, and suddenly feel like crying. I retreat to the car and let it out. The words, his presence—it all reminds me too much of my old friend.
Later, I sit in the computer area while my laptop charges. An old man I call Uncle begins talking to me. I try to listen, but through the glass overlooking the café, I see his shoes. My crush is here today. Despite myself, I steer Uncle toward the café, partly because I want to see him, partly because Uncle is loud and the library is quiet.
When I enter, he's sitting right by the main door, back turned. Panic strikes instantly, and I plan to run away. Luckily, I left my car key on the table, and I use that as an excuse to rush out, collecting myself. When I return, I sit with my back toward him, trying to hide the panic in my chest.
He's talking with his friends. Their conversation drifts to being alone, then to God, and I'm pulled into thought of my old best friend. She was like that too—so deeply in love with God, such a thinker. I decide that no matter what, I will approach him. Even if not romantically, I need to know him. Maybe that way I can finally get over her. She left me, but I don't want to lose that kind of connection again. Even if only for a while, I want it back. To her, and to God. Maybe then I'll finally feel at peace.
I nod along absentmindedly while Uncle talks, but my real attention is on my crush's words. I want to hear something deep again, to feel that connection with someone who feels so whole within himself. I want to feel whole again.
Talking to Uncle helps, strangely enough, even though half the time my focus is on him. I even tell Uncle I'm about to cry, and admitting it aloud feels strangely soothing. But then, of course, I do something cringe. While talking about missing my best friend, I speak a little too loudly, hoping he might hear and develop some interest. Embarrassing.
Then I slip again, saying out loud that I want a spiritually good friend, using the male pronoun. I wanted him to hear, but apparently the entire group does. One of his friends repeats it back, and everyone snickers. I want to disappear. I don't even notice when they leave, only realising later that I've missed him leaving too.
When I go to collect my laptop, I freeze. Someone is in the computer area. It's him—or at least I think it's him.
He's wearing a white shirt now, but earlier he was in a blue hoodie. I'm confused, but he's handsome, so maybe it's the same person. We make eye contact. I panic, grab my laptop, and rush outside.
I sit on the couch and start writing in Word:
"The same person? I'm sitting here smiling like an idiot. There's this person I like, and I like him a lot. It started as obsession, and now it's real infatuation. He's perfect. He's exactly the person I've always wanted. If I had to describe my ideal type to anyone, I'd just show them him.
I like him so much. The problem? He doesn't care about me at all. And strangely, that's part of the charm. I don't like him for his face or anything superficial. It's the way he talks, his voice, everything. I'm obsessed. Classic me.
I don't even trust myself anymore; it feels like fiction. He probably recognises me now—I've made a habit of being around him too. Maybe that's why. Or maybe I'm just imagining it."
He's sitting outside when I arrive. I grab my book and sit nearby until he leaves. I know he isn't looking at me. I don't think he cares. But I do. I do some cringe things, and I'm not proud of it.
Later, he comes back inside. I go back in after ten minutes. I don't remember the order of events. He uses the stairs; I see him go upstairs while my laptop dies, so I head to the computer room to charge it.
By the time I'm back in my car, my mood has lifted. You wouldn't know I was about to cry hours ago. I feel ecstatic. I even record a five-minute video saying, "If we end up together, I want you to know this is what I felt like back then." Then I drive away, too happy for my own good.
As I write this, he comes out again and heads to the washroom. I'm flustered as usual. He takes his laptop and leaves. I don't remember if I followed him, but he's gone.
He isn't here today. Yesterday, I had the best time. I blushed all day. Even back home, even at my aunt's, I kept blushing until I finally told my best friend the whole story. Then my colleague. I even asked my sister-in-law for tips.
Last night, after sharing everything, I walked on the rooftop for an hour. When I came back, my cheeks weren't red anymore.
I honestly thought the blush was makeup, but it wasn't. I knew my face felt hot, but I didn't think it was this much.
I miss him. But I also realise he's never around after our awkward interactions. Maybe he's ignoring me…