There she sits. I can’t help but stare. Every day, I sit down in my seat and watch the door, waiting for her to come in. And then she does, every day, at five minutes past the hour, and she sits down. Sometimes, she’ll wear a blue dress. Other times, she has on a small t-shirt and blue jeans. It changes a lot, but every single time, she’s beautiful.
    Then comes our teacher. I know I should focus on him; math isn’t my strongest subject anyway. But something just captivates me. I can’t stop staring at her. I imagine that her voice is the example that started all of those cliches. As sweet as caramel, as light as a feather, as calming as a fleeting breeze. Whichever it is, I’m sure that it’s just fantastic.
    I don’t know her name. The teacher never calls attendance, and no one ever asks her a question or calls out to her. I imagine that they all want to as well, but, like myself, they just can’t muster that confidence. Instead, I just refer to her as Desk Four, since she sits in the fourth desk. It’s a beautiful name, really; just as I would expect from her. Lovely, mesmerizing Desk Four.

    He’s just so handsome. I wish I could express it in a better way, because handsome really is a tame word. However, it is the best that I can offer.
    Sometimes, I catch him looking at me. He always blushes a little and looks away, and I smile. I am aware that it is not enough to base a relationship on, some small glances in math class, but in my head, we’re already married.

    I wish I knew more about him, but I kind of like imagining. I have to wonder if he plays a sport, or if he is a musician. He probably is very gentle and nice. I’ve only seen his eyes those few times where he stares at me, but they’re so green, so welcoming, that I can tell how polite he is. I could take him to my house for dinner, and he would greet my parents and shake their hands. He would be sweet the whole night, and then I would walk him home and he would kiss me on his doorstep.

    I think about this almost every day in class when I see him, and often times I let out a small sigh. Thankfully, it has become habit, and nobody pays it attention anymore. Nobody but him; he knows that they are all too quiet professions of love.

    I especially love how often she sighs. It happens all the time, and it sounds like a heavenly chorus of angels from heaven and she’s their heavenly leader and… I look away from her. Sometimes my thoughts start to ramble or get really repetitive when I stare at her for too long. Regardless, she sighs a lot, and it’s really cute.

    Today, I decide to take that step. I will give her a note. It will say ‘hi.’ Nothing else. Just a simple greeting that will eventually lead to a blossoming friendship, which will then evolve into a relationship and eventual marriage. It’s foolproof in my head.

    I pull out the piece of paper that will, without a doubt, go down in history as the most important piece of paper in all relationships. How do I write this? I wonder. Do I make it look really neat? Do I write it in my typical handwriting? What if she can’t read it, and she throws it away because it looks awful?
    I silence my burdensome questions with a decisive pen stroke. The first line of the ‘h’ is down. I finish carving my abdication from loneliness and fold it up. Once we go on our bathroom break, I’ll throw it on her desk and run out, waiting for her to notice afterwards.

    I decide that there is no way for me to go on like this. I must talk to him. I see him shooting me another look and my heart skips a beat. I make an attempt to smile at him, but I freeze and turn away. I cannot put up with this torture anymore.

    I pull out a piece of paper. I settle for the classic declaration of love: a simple note saying hello. I think about adding anything to the paper, a signature, a smile, but I fear scaring him away. If I came on too strong, I would regret it for the rest of my life. Therefore, I figure ‘hello’ will be enough and write it down.

    Rather than throwing it to his desk now, I decide to wait for our bathroom break. I know he will get up and have some water because he always does. Therefore, I will wait for him to get up and then place it on his desk.

    The teacher dismisses us. I freeze. My note is probably soaked from my hand-sweat. She doesn’t need to know about that just yet, but she will certainly realize it the first time we hold hands, and she will be used to it when I take her hand in marriage.
    I go out of the classroom before she gets up, so I hold onto the note. I couldn’t possibly give it directly to her. I couldn’t handle the stress of it. I go get some water, as I usually do, and watch her get up.

    He leaves the room and I put the note on his desk. I leave it unfolded. It’s direct. He’ll know I mean business. I go out to use the bathroom. If he sees the note while I’m in the room, I’ll probably die right there. So I place the note and leave.

    I see her leave the room and I make my move. I go back inside and put the note down. I fold it so it’s closed. It’s secretive. She’ll love it. I sit back down at my desk, smiling, and wait for a response. Some little piece of me hoped that she would have that same idea, and that I would find a note after I came back, but some things are too good to be true.