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I'm completely zoned out in English. Usually it's my favourite subject, and one that I get consistent A's in. But today, Imogen's irritatingly nice hair is distracting me. I'd heard her mention something about getting it cut when she was at my house the other day, but I hadn't thought much of it. But I can't seem to take my eyes off of it now. I liked her hair before, and I always told her that, as any good ‘gal pal’ would. But now it somehow looks even better, even more like silk. My mind is doing serious overtime imagining how it would feel to thread my fingers through it.
"Sahar?"
I'm snapped out of my daydream. Imogen's smiling at me, thank god she looks confused. If she knew that I'd just been staring at the back of her head daydreaming about her and her hair, I think I'd have to run out of the classroom in the search for a hole that I could just crawl into and die a pitiful death.
"Sorry," I reply nonchalantly in a foul attempt at playing unbothered, "English is boring."
Imogen raises an eyebrow at that, her eyes light up a little and her mouth parts, "Really? I've never heard you say that before."
"No," I correct myself. I'd said it too quickly, forgetting how well she knows me. But now I don't know what to say. I can't exactly take it back.
Her hands have made their way to her hair now, too. Twirling the blonde strands into loose curls, and soon I'm imagining that they're my fingers in her hair again and- I need to stop. It feels wrong to sit right here, whilst she’s talking to me, and think about her in a very non-platonic way that is absolutely the opposite of our strictly platonic relationship.
"I meant to say that I think that this English lesson in particular is boring," I shrug, in an attempt to save my lie. It's barely something to be proud of, but the idea of acting cool in front of Imogen went out the window a long time ago. It’s like every time I’m around her, my brain shuts down and I’m left with the social skills of a toddler.
Surprisingly, she seems to believe it, smiling wider in agreement. There’s a golden halo circled around her head in my mind because I’m convinced she’s the most angelic being to ever grace this earth and I'm silently smug that I was the one to make her smile like that and not one of the countless boys I've seen her hang onto the arms of at the handful of parties I've attended. I tend to leave when that happens, it makes my stomach churn in a way that I know alcohol doesn't.
Before I can say anything to continue the conversation, watch her smile and hear her laugh for just a few seconds longer, our (stupid, stupid!) teacher has shouted at us both for talking and I have just about processed the ‘sorry’ she mouthed at me when I realise that I'm staring at the back of her head again, left alone with my thoughts. My very not-straight thoughts about my very straight friend.
A friend. I figured I'd be able to detach myself from the romantic attraction, sacrifice my feelings completely, at the chance of us potentially becoming friends again a few months ago, because in my mind, just friends was better than awkwardly watching her across the school canteen and trying not to bump into her in the corridors. But I should have known it would never be that easy.
It's as if I'm transported back to year ten when I realised I was probably bisexual in the exact same moment I realised I was irrevocably head over heels for Imogen Heaney and her beautiful bright blue eyes and infectious smile.
She was lying on my bed, face to face with me. Our noses were almost touching and I could feel her breath on my face like the warmth of a fire. She was staring right at me, babbling on about whichever boy she had a crush on at the time. I don’t remember who it was because I wasn’t listening, my brain drowned out all the noise and I could just see her. My heart stopped for a split second before it started to beat a thousand beats per minute, and all I could do was use all of the willpower I had to make sure that I didn’t lean in and kiss her.
I still feel like that around her a lot of the time, even now. Especially now. It’s almost as if reconnecting with her actually caused my stupid little crush to grow into something much bigger and more personal. Before, I could endure watching her from afar. But now, I crave her closeness like its oxygen and I’ve been stuck underwater for a year. Not even in an exclusively sexual or romantic way, either. Just in the sense that I find comfort in knowing that she’s near.
It’s as if there’s an invisible string that ties us together, I can’t help but wonder if she feels it too. Probably not considering how oblivious she seems to be to my crush on her that I’m very aware I have made very obvious. I’m almost certain that all of our friends know that I like her. But it’s probably for the best that she doesn’t know, since there’s no way I’m getting over her anytime soon, and having a crush on a straight girl never goes well, it always ends in heartbreak.
And I’m not too sure if I could handle losing her for a second time.