04 | The First Crack

I had come to believe myself to be unshakable for the majority of my life.  

I didn't get angry. I didn't get excited. I didn't cry. I didn't laugh, unless it was fake. I functioned, I existed and I lived without complication. 

They would say things such as "You'll understand when you fall in love" or "You just haven't met the right person yet." But they believed that everyone felt what they felt, that everyone would eventually feel what they had felt. 

I never did. 

So, I accepted it. That I was different. I was missing something very vital, some piece of humanity that would allow others to form deep connections and be involved with life on all levels. 

And it didn't bother me. 

Until now. 

The shift wasn't immediate. 

My problem wasn't that I lacked a switch under my brain, turning itself on and suddenly informing me of all things I'd never felt before. It would have been easier to explain that way. 

It was not that though; it was something much worse. 

A slow, creeping change. 

One I couldn't control. 

It started with a question. 

Not hers. Mine. 

Instead of shutting her out of my life as I had everybody else, I began wonder about her. God, I didn't want to, but not because I wanted to, but because something about her was still on my mind and wouldn't leave afterward. 

What was it like to be her? 

To be so... certain? 

So much faith to have in something you couldn't see or prove. 

To so effortlessly care about people. 

I always regarded people in a separated manner, observing how they behaved, what they did, what they wanted to achieve. They were easy to sort out, easy to place in predictable patterns. 

But I couldn't categorize her.

I couldn't predict her in a way that frustrated me. 

Despite that, I still searched for her once more. 

I saw her at the church. 

I hadn't meant to go there. 

Walking aimlessly, clearing my thoughts, I passed by and she was standing outside, talking to an elderly woman. 

She reached and gently clasped the woman's hands, her head tilted, listening attentively. 

She wasn't in a rush. She wasn't distracted. 

She was present.

She opened her mouth and her eyes glassy, she softened her face. Whatever she said driven to her. In some way, this girl—this damn girl—had made her think that she did matter. 

People had faked kindness before. I had seen empty smiles and forced sympathy bearing smiles. 

This wasn't that. 

This was real. 

And I didn't understand it. 

I watched longer than was good, as the woman patted her hand in thankfulness and walked off, as lighter than she would have come. 

Turning, she caught my eyes before I could avert them. 

She smiled, with her lips lightening in the tips. 

I scowled. 

I sat beside her on the church steps, and she teased me with, "Following me now?" 

I huffed. "You keep appearing everywhere." 

She laughed. "Or maybe you're searching for me." 

I ignored that. 

Turning to him, though she felt little interest in speaking to him, she blew out her bangs as she leaned back, extending her legs in front of her. "So, what brings you here?" 

"I was walking." 

"And also, just happened, by accident, to get to a church?" 

I gave her a look. "Don't overanalyze it." 

She smirked. "That's funny coming from you." 

I exhaled through my nose. She wasn't wrong. My entire life, I had spent analyzing people, searching for patterns, reasons, reasons.

But she defied logic. 

She pressed her fingers against the stone step. "You are not a religious person." 

"I'm not." 

She nodded, unsurprised. "So you believe in anything?" 

Narrowing my eyes, I looked at her. "What do you mean?" 

"By not believing in God, do you believe in anything else?" 

"Like what?" 

She shrugged. "Fate. Purpose. Good and evil. Anything that makes life meaningful." 

I scoffed. "No." 

The usual answer, she smiled to herself like she expected exactly that. 

'You don't feel that a little sad?', she asked. 

I frowned. "Why would I?" 

She just said, because, "life already is hard enough." That, she thought, making it even harder. 

I didn't respond. 

I didn't disagree because I wasn't sure why I disagreed. 

She studied me for a moment. "You remind me of someone." 

I raised an eyebrow. "Should I be concerned?" 

She chuckled. "No. You were like him, he thought there was no purpose, turned the world into black and white." 

"And?" 

"He changed," she smiled softly and added. 

I stiffened. 

I hated the implication. 

I muttered, "That won't happen to me."

She just shrugged. "Maybe." 

I think that her certainty irritated me more than if she had tried to argue. 

It wasn't to convince me. 

She just believed. 

And that made it worse. 

Once at home that night, I sat in my room staring at the ceiling again. 

This was becoming a habit. 

A dangerous habit. 

I had never had a reason to lose sleep over someone before. 

It was the first time I had thought about someone this much. 

I didn't know what it meant, and then I was there and And I grabbed on. 

I had studied Carl Rogers, a psychologist, who held the view that people needed to have the unconditional positive regard to achieve their best. To be fully accepted with all conditions removed was the idea that someone could truly grow. 

Before, I had dismissed the theory. 

It sounded too idealistic. 

Too naïve. 

I was beginning to wonder now, actually. 

She had accepted me. 

Completely. 

Since I disregarded her beliefs.

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