Storm

She sat, hunched over the laboratory’s table as she stared at the photograph. It was one of the first photos taken of her co-curriculum activity. Her eyes graced the laminated piece, mind unraveling the identities of the beings in the memory.

It had been four years since she first joined the club. It taught her a lot of the ups and downs life served, it taught her to be a leader.

Her fingers tapped on an unfamiliar face; “Who’s he?” She asked no one in particular.

In the photograph, he looked older than the rest. She was almost positive that he was one of the only seniors that brought to life the club she succeeded. Someone had told her that, somewhere between her second and third year, that he served as an important member in the beginnings of what is hers.

He had an oval face, sharp jaw line and an insincere smile. His lanky figure stood comfortably beside a teacher she looked up to. Feet together, eyes focused on the camera, it was as if he expected that snapshot to be almost awkward. She wanted to know him.

Creating a memory;

Her thirteen-year-old self sat on the table across from hers, her legs swinging effortlessly as she gave out a huff. She must have been bored to hell and beyond, being the only person there with only silence for company. She bowed her head.

Light footsteps were heard and she shot up; she wanted someone whom she knew to come in. Someone she could talk to. Her hopes were denied.

His tall frame made him look almost intimidating, but then she compared it to his footsteps. If her thirteen-year-old self would like to describe it, it would be “chicken shit”. She snorted to herself.

He hadn’t made eye contact with her, not just yet. He looked around in the too familiar Biology lab he’d been forced to be accustomed to through his years as a student. He loved the Biology lab. It houses his favourite teacher, his favourite subject, the only place he’d come to when he had questions.

It was also something he built.

He looked at her; once again she had her head bowed and her cheeks puffed. He wanted to smile, but held back.

“Nobody’s here yet?” He asked.

She looked up, almost looking startled that he had questioned her. She looked around before she answered, just to make sure that he was indeed talking to her, and she shook her head.

His long legs made its way to her bench and he pulled the chair across from her. She felt tense, not because she was attracted to him in any form, but because she seemed to have develop this fear for her seniors. It was something like a psychosis she’d put herself through, it out of respect that she thought she needed to act in a certain way and demeanor in front of those older than her. It was what she was brought up upon.

“You’re new?” He asked, a few seconds before she seated himself.

She looked up at him, her thing eyes thinking, and she nodded, “Well, almost.”

He sensed that she was afraid to say more, so he prompted, “Almost?”

This seemed to spur her confidence, “I’ve been in this club for a month. I haven’t seen you around before.”

A smile etched on the corners of his lips, “Major exam this year, I’ve stepped down.”

She nodded, understanding. “So what’re you doing here?”

“Head’s asking me for help.”

“The teachers?” She questioned. He nodded.

And the awkward silence followed through. He did indeed look marvelously awkward in his own form and glory. She stared at his chin, wondering how a person could have such a sharp jaw-line. He had high cheekbones and his fingers looked almost creepy. His hair was cropped short, probably to fit with the school’s regulations. And even if he was to grow it out, she doubted he knew how to style it.

Stilettos made contact with the concrete floor; both of them looked out the window. The head, the teacher that made them join the club due to lack of members, stepped into her homeroom. A smile plastered on her face seeing that the two were parked together on the same table.

“Okay, so let’s start!” She piped. She was one of the younger teachers who seemed to understand the student’s need more than anyone else. She was strict, yes, but she knew how to communicate well with her students; more like a peer than a teacher.

“Start what? Nobody’s here.” He interjected. His face showed that he was only semi-interested in what was about to happen.

“That. Is what I need to discuss with you about.”

“We ran out of members?” He shot.

“Apparently.” She shot back.

The thirteen year old looked back and forth between her teacher and the senior she just met, amazed at how they treat each other more like siblings rather than teacher and student.

And with the discussion they had that day, by the end of her third year, they had successfully tripled the number of members- in tens- in the club. She was his successor, building things that he created a base for.

But irony hit her damn well. After that discussion, the one she had with him and the head almost three years to this very day, she hadn’t seen him once after that. It was as if her mind was playing tricks on her, maybe that was why his face only served as a blank memory. Particularly because he only existed once, and never appeared again. Like a ghost.

A tap next to her made her loose herself from the futile search for him on her brain’s CPU. Her eyes glanced up at the figure lazily, not wanting to part with that single memory. A few seconds.

“You’re new?” She asked; her mind registering.

His eyes roamed at the photograph that slipped from her hands, a smirk forming, not as awkward as before, “Well, almost.”

“Almost?” She questioned.

“I’ve been here three seconds,” He jested, “But it seemed as if I’ve been imprisoned in that photograph for too long.” He smiled at her.

She nodded, looking almost as bored as she was three years before. She didn’t swing her legs now and it looked as if the curiosity in her eyes seemed to have died. She must’ve been tired.

“I’ve imagined you to be here for far too long.” Her voice and humor dry, “Do me a favor; don’t be a bastard and run off this time again.”

He chuckled and nodded, “I’m not planning on becoming another memory.”