She sat across from me because, for some reason, the professor believed we’d have better discussions if the seats were arranged as opposing factions, almost like a war would erupt at any point if the wrong thing was said. Her name was Katherine and this was “Intermediate Workshop in Poetry/Fiction.” I couldn’t remember the prompt, but she was busy at work writing her lines and occasionally, she would smile at what she had written.
I was finished. I had been for a while, which was routine now. I would hurry to finish the writing exercise and spend the next few minutes pretending to look over my work, but secretly I was studying her, the contours of her face, her eyes, nose, lips, and every specific detail. She had a mole that was all the more noticeable because of her porcelain-like skin.
When she would finish she would look up, and because I was directly across from her, her eyes would briefly meet mine before we’d both smile and look away.
She didn’t know me, but every Tuesday and Thursday, for a few seconds our eyes would meet and all was right, and all was beautiful, and life was worth it.