There was a sudden sharp jab in my side. He had walked by, seen me not paying him any attention, and decided to remedy that by poking me right on the side of my stomach.
Despite being completely mortified, I played it cool and whirled around with a perfectly played gasp. “Oh my god! You scared me!” I cried, pretending to have been really caught by surprise (when actually out of the corner of my eye I had watched him approaching me and almost expected him to do something - though I’ll admit I didn’t expect to get jabbed in the side). He just grinned at me in reply and proceeded to take out his stuff for lab.
I turned away, carefully hiding the creeping blush on my cheeks under my hair. Why was it that such a simple playful gesture could get me so flustered? Perhaps it was because he dared to poke me not on my arm but stomach, after just knowing me for 5 days? To be honest, it was a little bold of him (I could have made things feel embarrassing and awkward for him instead), but since it actually pleased me, I let it slide. And all I could think was, Why? What did that mean? Why did he even care to catch my attention when he felt I was ignoring him for too long? And how did he dare to use this method to catch my attention, rather than resorting to something much more normal, like, “Hey, what’s up?”
And of course, I was also blushing and panicking for a whole other reason - morbid horror that he had poked me on my stomach, which is in no way flat. Could he feel how fat my flab was with that poke? Did that completely disgust him and was he now thinking about how fat I might be? I mean, I was wearing a sweatshirt for a reason, because lately I’ve been doing nothing but feeling fat, and this is the only jacket I have that lends a completely vague air towards my body figure. Ugh. Of course, he was now trying to talk to me like nothing had happened, so maybe he hadn’t felt anything. Yeah, maybe everything was all right, and there was no damage to control. After all, it was just a split-second poke - barely enough time to register anything, right? I secretly poked myself in the side over and over again, under my jacket, trying to gouge how that poke must have felt like to his finger. Finally I decided that maybe it just felt like how anyone’s stomach should - flesh that can give, but hard at the same time. Or at least, I hoped so.
The past few days have forced me to remedy this journal with an additional note.
Was this what people mean by “shooting a gun of love”? Probably not, and yet this finger poke of his seemed to have a similar effect on me nonetheless, because for the past few days I’ve been able to do nothing but think of him. Ugh, I’m such a sap.
No, I’m not in love with him, I don’t even really have a crush on him. I’m just…thinking of him without meaning to, because you know how it is - some people just leave an impression in your mind.