Chapter Text
"You go to St. Finbar's."
"That's right."
"I go to Hendon House, across the road... I've seen you. Sitting by yourself."
"Yes, well, I prefer to be left alone."
"Me too. What's your name?"
"...Phyllis."
George has never considered himself a romantic. Until recently, when that has become questionable when he is sure that he pretty much personifies every single thought, feeling, or act that one can possibly find in a romance fiction, that is, when it comes to a certain girl.
The very first thing he notices about this girl the first time he lays eyes on her is her exceptional beauty. George does not consider himself the shallow type either, but in his defense, when one looks at someone they've never seen or known a second before, the first thing that will register is their appearance. And George is quite taken by hers indeed. And it's not only because the girl is the takes-one's-breath-away type of beautiful, but also because, in some odd way, she looks every inch like she doesn't belong there. Sitting on a bench in the waiting shed outside her school, a book on her lap, and perhaps waiting for someone. It is a dreary day; the skies are cloudy and gray, the air is stuffy and filled with dark smoke from passing vehicles, and the city is bustling with too much noise, and there she is, solitary and solemn, looking more like a delicate, regal flower lost amidst some ancient castle ruins.
George eventually has to force himself to tear his eyes away from the girl, already feeling a rush of anxiety welling up inside him at the thought of not seeing her again, that she may end up a mere figment of his imagination. But he knows he has to. He has never been short on self-esteem, despite his appearance and what people assume of him, still it will require deep courage to walk up and strike a conversation out of the blue, and at the time he doesn't have quite enough reasons to muster up that courage. Maybe he is simply awestruck with the mysterious goddess, and maybe it will come to pass. He really shouldn't pursue a woman for that reason alone. Looking back at the girl across the road one last time, George sighs wistfully and walks away, half-dreading that this will be the first and only time he would get to encounter the fallen angel. Or the misplaced queen.
But, fortunately for him, that is not to be. Because only a week after that, he sees her again, then again, and again. Sometimes, a little girl accompanies her, and other times, the two of them would be joined by two boys from his school, and the four would leave the area together, chattering among themselves. Mostly, though, he sees her sitting by herself, on the same bench, reading a book as she usually does.
And as for George, everyday he would spare fifteen minutes of his time after lessons, loitering outside his school gates, or standing by the newspaper stall, pretending to read while actually sneaking glances at her. And every single time too, without fail, he feels his heart thumping harder and louder against his chest, as though his heart becomes more alive at the mere sight of her. There's a different, unexplainable excitement and happiness in his veins, along with a growing yearning, to talk to her, to know her. His palms would get sweaty, and he would quickly avert his gaze elsewhere, nervous at the thought of being caught, but she has not once raised her head in his direction. Or rather she has, but only when she expects both or either of the boys to meet her. But her eyes never stray to land specifically on his person. And if they do, they would easily slide past him. Perhaps, because he doesn't strike her as intriguing as she does him.
Several weeks, until a whole month has passed. George finds his yearning to approach the girl ever increasing. There's something about her that draws him in, something a lot deeper than physical attraction. Something that urges him to find out what it is, at all cost. This should alarm him, but he knows — and senses inside his heart, just to be sure — that his intentions are solely pure. If anything, and much to his confusion, there is the strangest sort of feeling that he just might someday regret it if he doesn't follow his gut feelings.
Or it could be that he is just reading too much into things. Maybe he is simply in wonder of her solitude, or her smiles, few as they are and so are rather special. He's seen her smile the most when she is with the little girl and the two boys, and those are the times when she looks genuinely happy and at ease. He's seen her with a couple other girls her age as well, probably her friends. She laughs with them too, but afterwards he would see her again all alone, as if all those smiles and laughter have happened in an entirely different time and world and he's only seeing the real face underneath when there is no one around to socialize with. Sometimes, he has to wonder if the girl feels lonely, or she simply is just like he is, preferring peaceful solitude over a cheerful crowd.
The lack of knowledge with regards to her name makes him wonder too. How he longs to call her with a proper name, not just refer to her as 'the girl', or 'she'. Calling her with her given name just seems appropriate; it gives her identity and respect, and for his benefit, a sense of realness, that she is the same as him and therefore attainable, and not just a byproduct of a dream. He bets her name is equally lovely as the one who owns it. He has even tried a few guesses. Elizabeth? Sounds sophisticated and royal, but a bit too loud for her. Rachel? Nice, but too common, and doesn't seem like her at all. Isabelle? Pretty, but a bit too tame. Anna. There, simple and sweet yet elegant. Because despite her otherworldly appearance, George likes to think that she is someone who finds the most beauty and value in the simplicity of things. Even more, he likes the sound of it. It's befitting of her appearance and the way she presents herself, at least the way he perceives it.
He doesn't mean any disrespect in labeling her incorrectly. More so, he uses his invented name for her in his mind in wishful thinking, only when he wants to be assured that she is within his reach, should he one day decide to come up to her and finally introduce himself. Otherwise, he will just wait until that day that he finds out her real name, and when that day comes, he can only wish he earns the right to call her by it.
That day is today.
George hasn't planned for this at all. Opportunity has merely sauntered past him teasingly slow, and he has made a mad grab for it, is all.
She stands five feet away, in the direction he's been going. He has never done any readying for this moment, but George isn't one anyway to put his fate on the right timing, conditioning, or even opportunity. So many things that could've been done, could've happened, if only people have not procrastinated or hesitated. But he isn't one to dwell on the could-have-been or what-if or if-only either. And while it's true that he has been waiting for the perfect chance to make himself known to her, it's only because this matter is much more delicate than anything he's had to deal with before. He doesn't want to mess things up when it comes to her before he is ready. But if a chance presents itself freely, then all it means is that George is going to officially meet the girl who has captured and enticed his heart, right now.
He comes to stand next to her on the newspaper stall where she is currently reading some magazine. Not someone to be so easily fazed by what people think of him, George is actually pretty sure about himself and what he wants. He's quick to learn, however, that being self-assured doesn't necessarily make one immune to nerves. But the thing that gives him courage to pull through this is the fact, the reality, that the girl he has only deeply admired from across the road for so long is right in front of him at this very moment. She is real. And he is about to let her know of his existence.
Most likely feeling his eyes on her, the girl — the woman, as is more befitting of her — glances at him tentatively, and George doesn't exactly know why, but that simple and brief acknowledgement is enough to set his spirits soaring, that for a moment, he is afraid he would go speechless. Those several yards of distance he's endured between them have never given her justice, for she looks far more beautiful than he has initially thought. And her eyes, they are the most astonishing gray he's ever laid eyes on.
And as he finally starts to converse with her, with George only almost completely aware of the exchange, he notes the things he has learned about her so far. First, she is either really shy or really aloof. And second — and it pleases him so — they do have something in common.
Everything seems utterly surreal. He can't find it in him to fully rejoice yet, since a large part of him still kind of wonders if this isn't a dream. If this is really happening between him and the girl who, until now, has only occupied his mind and filled his daydreams. He feels like pinching himself, but he seems coherent enough as he is still thinking clearly and doesn't seem to be stuttering with his words to the girl. Which reminds him....
"What's your name?" He asks her, finally. This is what he has mostly looked forward to with regards to meeting her, all that waiting and yearning, leading up to this moment; the idea of her having shared a part of herself with him, simply by him knowing something as intimate and personal as her name.
She looks at him then, a thin smile adorning her lips. "Phyllis."
Phyllis.
At long last, an identity. It's not quite what George has expected or guessed. But it is her. It's a small thing, but for him, it is a huge step closer—
"Susan!"
A childish, feminine voice calls out, coming from a young girl running towards their general direction, and before George can register the situation or who is being addressed, the little girl halts panting in front of Phyllis.
'Phyllis' spares him a quick look, but George is not quick enough — or sensible enough — to school his features into something more... he doesn't know, composed or indifferent, maybe. But he is quick to decide he doesn't have to.
The smaller girl — he recognizes her as the one who he oftentimes sees with Phy— her — recovers shortly, but her expression is so anxious that he almost asks what's wrong, and her voice carries an urgency in it as she says in almost panic, "You'd better come quickly!"
The older of the two shoots him another uncertain glance before she wordlessly grabs her things, and the two of them sprint across the road towards the underground train station.
Well... George adjusts the strap of his own bag on his shoulder. That hasn't gone quite as well as he has hoped.
As the twin figures disappear below the ground, he tries to force down the disappointment bubbling up, as his mind goes back to what has just transpired.
The first thought that comes to his mind is that, she didn't need to lie. But why would she even want to in the first place? Perhaps, it was something he said. Maybe she didn't feel comfortable divulging information to a total stranger. He reckons that's pretty much reasonable. But he would've appreciated it if she just told him directly. Then again, he supposes it is hard to tell someone off without being rude. And admittedly, her little lie has offended and stung him slightly. Did she not want him to know?
He shrugs off the unpleasant feelings, along with the disaster and slight embarrassment of the recent encounter. Then he chides himself for being quick to judge, especially someone he has only just met and barely even talked to. Maybe her name is really Susan Phyllis, or Phyllis Susan. He hardly knows the girl, so calling her out for a little lie is a bit too much. He should give her the benefit of the doubt first.
But while others may consider him generous or too-good-to-be-true for that, George knows he's no fool. Based from her reaction, he's surmised that Phyllis's name isn't really "Phyllis". Even then, he just has to trust that there might be a reason she has to withhold such a thing from someone she doesn't know, and quite frankly, even as they talked with each other, he's a complete stranger to her. Now that he thinks about it, he may actually be the one at fault after all. Perhaps he has come off as a little pompous or straightforward and he's scared her off or something. But whatever the case, reality doesn't happen exactly the way one envisions them in their dreams.
He sighs; maybe he'll get lucky next time. He checks his watch, and realizing the time, he himself breaks into a run for the underground station.
He makes it in time to the platform, which is crowded as usual, it being only Tuesday. George walks with no rush through the thick of people littering the path as everyone waits for the train to arrive. Amidst the bustle of activity everywhere, a brief shout of indignation reaches his ears. When he looks over for the source, his eyes land on Phyllis among a group of people. But he barely has time to register the whole scene ahead of him just as the loud metal screeching from the train pulling to a stop at the railway station catches his attention.
Everyone rushes forward hoping to snag a seat, so George has to constantly move out of people's way and weave his own to get to the train. Arriving at a much less crowded area, he gets in just as the doors slide open, and looks up to see four people just standing on the platform. It's Phyllis and the younger girl, with the two boys from his school whose faces he's already familiar with.
The four stand outside, heads darting every which way as if searching for something they've lost, though to George, it appears more like they're the ones who seem lost and confused, like they have only just woken up from a dream and have no idea where they are. He hears the horn and whistles blowing, and thinks privately that these guys really should get in now if they don't want to miss their transport and be met with even greater misfortune back at school.
"Aren't you coming, Phyllis?"
His prompting seems to snap them back to reality, and everyone scurries to get their things. Amidst that, the confused looks the others have directed at the older girl at the address has not been lost on George. But he supposes he can dwell on that some other time.
The doors slide shut as the last of the four enters.
"Do you think there is any way we could get back?" The seemingly younger boy asks as he shuffles through his shoulder bag. There is a short pause before he looks up at the others, lips quirking up in a rather disbelieving smile. "I left my new torch in Narnia."
And just like that, as though it serves as a counter-spell to break the ice, that sentence easily diffuses the weird air surrounding the quartet, as smiles and laughter break out on each of their faces. And it is well and good then, perhaps, although for the life of him, George has no idea what on earth "Narnia" is.