One Whole Minute

’Cause I’d rather waste my life pretending
Than have to forget you for one whole minute
-Paramore; Crushcrushcrush

She sat on the floor in the hallway, her back against her locker, pretending to read a book as she did every other morning before the first bell. None of the words sunk in, however. She was waiting for him to walk by. He never saw her, of course. Sure, he’d glance down at her occasionally, but he didn’t actually see her. He always just looked through her, just another body taking up space. He was the only one she saw, and he didn’t even know she existed.

A glance down at her book, then another back up at the hallway. Her usual routine; her usual dance. She absentmindedly read a few more words, then looked back up again, just in time to catch him turning the corner. Immediately, her eyes were back on her book, her breath catching. Her cheeks warmed uncomfortably; her heart pounded furiously in her throat; her stomach danced not unpleasantly. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his approach, torn between saying something and retaining her anonymity, daring to hope that he’d say something, smile, acknowledge her existence.

And then he walked by – she held her breath, unaware that she did so – and then he was gone, going to greet his friends, as he did every morning.

This brief moment was the highlight of her day – and it left her with nothing but the ache of emptiness.