Grasping Fate

I enjoy entertaining myself my noticing features of those who walk by me in the hallways, for their line of attention never seems to catch in tandem with mine. Some days I would indulge in the variation of dimples, or the form of a nose against the shape of faces. Then there were days when daring eyes would tempt others to look back at me. I was curious to their reaction, to measure their audacity to acknowledge a stranger. Glances quickly darted back away when found caught with mine. Connection between pairs of eyes read deeper than seconds of inconspicuous relation; his blue eyes against mine proved that clear to me. As we came closer to passing, unashamed curiosity persisted when I wavered in shyness. One moment had deemed him admirable.
Weeks and months passed with similar quiet exchanges staged in the same scene as orgin predicted. Among familiar figures, he was the only one recognizable. A school year ended without a peak of curiosity to inspire action, so his identity remained unknown to me. A fleeting thought of regret was the last temptation of his pretense I expected him to draw from me.
Another year of school herded acquaintance under one roof for my final year. In coincidence blue and brown collided within variation of their first meeting, still with quietness and subtle curiosity wrought by routine.
Spread across a plain, blue couch, buried in a book was the first time I heard his voice. He stood over me, but no where near me. He conversed with the boys around me as I saw him through the corners of my eyes between paragraphs. Without the expectation of walking, his prolonged distant closeness quickened my pulse. I smiled at the predicability of my body's raised adrenaline. Only when he left, were direct acknowledgement ensued between us. From conversation, I found that we were equal in age and curiosity peaked.
To know a name was my desire, to label one among many insignificant others without. This apitite was satisfied after the multiple passings of a month, I watched and waited for the ideal moment to align with my guts.
However, a new hunger grew from the knowledge of his name. I wanted to know him, to see beyond what others saw, what I had seen for the past year. The idea of giving him my number was then ignited. Excuses formed themselves through trite obstacles like "how would I even slip it to him?" Several scraps of paper carried a note containing my number, all created in efforts to coax myself into the reality of giving it to him.
There was no significance to the day my courage was significant. The ground between he and I was clear, he smiled when I came toward him, taking out his headphones for my words. Instead my actions were silent, holding out the folded paper, then walking away after he took it. Fate no longer weighed me down, for I had given it to another.