There once was a girl. But isn’t that how all stories start? And so you’re probably wondering what makes this story different. Well maybe your brain should just shut up for a second and enjoy the story.

Eh-hem, now I’ll continue. There once was a girl. She wasn’t a spectacular girl by any means, she was just a normal girl. She worried about boys, her too short hair and her Meijer clothes. She woke up at an ungodly hour every morning and lugged herself to school. She sat in class and doodled anime characters on her notes. No, this girl was nothing special to any ordinary person. But to the unordinary person, she was a mystery. Cold and distant around strangers yet warm and giddy toward her friends. Smart in her writing and vocabulary, but when forced to speak in class her voice grew quiet and unsure.

And so there was a boy. He was an average boy, basic by all means. Taller than most with wispy hair that stuck up in weird places. He always wore basketball shorts and Nike t-shirts. He spent too much time thinking about and playing sports. He was sarcastic and a flirt, winking at any girl that looked his way. And he was a liar. Yes, he was your normal highschool boy. But to her, he was beautiful. Always able to make her laugh and bring a smile to her face. Around him she felt comfortable, as if maybe she could be herself for once.

To the boy, the girl was a mystery, a mystery he so wanted to unravel. In class he’d watch her write intently, scribbling word after word on notebook paper. He’d lean over her shoulder, trying to read what she was writing. He wondered what she thought about, what she wrote about. What were her thoughts and feelings. But whenever he dared to ask she’d sift the papers across her desk away from him and shake her head. There was one time, she let him read a little of her short story. It was magical, wonderful. Until she took the paper back and shoved it into her backpack. So days continued to pass, and everyday he’d try to get closer to her, to unwrap the secrets of her mind.

The girl liked the boy, a lot. As highschool girls tend to do. Everyday she looked forward to her last hour class, where she would get to sit next to him and laugh. Sometimes he’d ask to read her stories, and that always made her nervous. She wanted him to read them, she really did. To let him in, but something always held her back. What if he didn’t like them? What if he thought she was weird? So she didn’t let him read them, and the hour would pass and they would joke around more. And when class was over he’d walk away with his friends, not speaking to her again until the next day. She’d watch him walk away, often following him down the hall for a little while (only because that was the direction of her locker). And the next day they’d do it all over again.

Inevitably, school ended as school tends to do. The girl stayed inside writing most of the time, occasionally going to her summer job at the grocery store. The boy would play sports and video games with his pals, sometimes going out with a girl or two. They’d often think of each other, the girl and the boy. But neither dared ask a friend for the number. The girl kicked herself for not letting him in, for not being braver. And the boy slapped his forehead for letting her get away, for not just asking her out. And as the new school year loomed near, the boy convinced himself that he’d missed his chance. The girl watched on the first day of school as he walked his new girlfriend to her classes. It was just like last year, and the year before that. The girl watched in silence as he kissed and cuddled some girl that wasn’t her. And when they finally broke up, she was too afraid to say anything, maintaining her silent vigil.

This continued until they graduated and went off to college. The girl flew across the globe to Germany, where college was free; while the boy stayed in the states. Eventually, the girl stopped thinking about the boy and saw other people. But the boy never did truly stop thinking about her, even when he was married with children. For you see, advant reader, the boy, now a man, never did solve her mystery. He never figured out what made her tick, and it haunted him. He never met anyone like her, for there was no one. It didn’t occur to him that there was nothing spectacular about her, that she was average by all means. For he was an average boy, who happened to love a very normal girl.