Flying

He looked.

The shy girl with red glasses and freckled cheeks isn't quite as invisible as she once thought.

She had stopped looking for his face long ago. She had given up the possibility of being seen. But today had been a good day, and she missed his face oh-so-much. So she peeked.

His tan skin, beautiful mouth, dark dark eyes. It was like a breath of fresh air. She immediately wished to be closer to him. Then, something new. The seat to her right [number eight precisely] was suddenly occupied.

Startled, but not disappointed, she watched him out of the corner of her eye, feeling oddly aware. Without much warning he peeked at her as well. His dark dark eyes were finally on her and she was flying.

With as little as two blinks time, the moment was gone. The rest of the ride, she listened to him speak, cherishing the sound of his voice. Then, for the remainder of the day, all she could focus on was the feeling of his eyes on her.

Of those dark dark eyes on her.

Of being seen.

Of flying.