I don’t know you; I’ve never seen you. We’ve never met.

I like to pretend we had.

I thought you were pretty when I first saw you. I didn’t say anything. I’ve seen a few pretty girls before, all in their own way. Yours was in your face and your eyes and your slimness. And the way you smiled.

We met when I told a joke and you were the only one who laughed.

I shared a grin with you across the classroom. Saw you doodling in those notebooks, all the time. You seemed nice. I tried to learn your name. I’m bad with names. I listened carefully when the teacher called roll next week. You had a pretty name. I know I shouldn’t care about names, but I do. I liked yours. A friend once taught me how to take a chance. I did. Asked you if you wanted to eat lunch in the cafeteria. Wouldn’t have done it, but there was the joke and the notebooks. You smiled politely and said yes. I worried you didn’t really want to go.

We talked about the homework assignment for that week, what we thought of the class, of the professor. I asked you what you liked to do. Reading and writing. And video games. I like the same things. I didn’t say so. I didn’t want to appear to be trying too hard to be your friend. I asked what you put in the notebooks. You said you wrote lots of things. I didn’t press the matter. After lunch we walked a few hundred yards toward your next class before we parted ways.

I spent the next weekend wondering if it was even possible to start a friendship that way.

I found myself thinking about you in the morning, as I jammed my books into my backpack. I sat next to you in class, trying to sit far enough from you to not seem pushy. I’ve always been terrified of being pushy. You asked after class if I’d like to eat lunch again. I said yes. We spoke about video games, about the new one coming out that winter. The subject shifted to writing. I admitted I liked to write. You asked to see. I am proud of my writing; I wanted to show you. I hesitated. You insisted. I agreed to print out something.

You were late to class when I next saw you. Waved at you and smiled as the professor continued to lecture. You grabbed a chair and pulled it over to sit next to me. That made my day. I slipped you the sheaf of papers I had printed off the night before while pretending to pay full attention to the teacher. That day at lunch we traded contact information. That night at 10PM you texted to ask how was my homework going, and that you’d really liked the stories and my characters reminded you of some of your own. I said fine, and thanks, and told my best friend about you that night.

When we next met, you showed me a little from your notebook. You wouldn’t show me all of it, and blushed a little. I understood. I have writings that I’d never show to anyone but maybe my best friend. You loved building characters, pages on pages of them. Your writing was good, and your sketches were fantastic. I was a little jealous of your sketches. Said so. You laughed and said thanks.
 
I don’t know you; I’ve never seen you. We’ve never kissed.

I like to pretend we had.

It took me nearly a year to reach that point. I trust people slowly, but you continued to send me messages on Skype even when spring and summer break sent us home. I learned a lot about you. About your family. About your relationships. You’d had one, but you spoke of him in past tense. I never learned if you had another. We exchanged stories. You loved playing characters just as much as I did. We shared stories.

I told you about my closest story. I told you about the boy I wrote. Kir. You loved him. I never knew if you realized how much I had based him on myself. You sent me one of your sketches, of him. There was no way to fit in words how happy that made me. I printed it out and pinned it to my wall. I didn’t tell you about the other character, about the girl, about Sara. Not at first. But she was too crucial to Kir’s story. Eventually I shared everything but the part I never share. You thought it was adorable. You suggested changes to Sara. I was so thankful. I had never been sure if I was writing girls correctly.

I noticed that this new Sara was a lot like you. It made me want to think that maybe like Kir I might not always be alone.

It made me want to hope. I was scared to.

One night we were talking about their story while playing a game. You goaded me into speaking from Kir’s perspective. I didn’t think anything of it. I have a friend who still calls me after the first of my characters she saw. An enemy nearly got me and I called for help. You jumped into Sara’s personality to rescue me. As Sara you demanded a kiss from Kir in payment.

I gave it to you. My heart felt like a caged bird.

I spent the rest of that night without sleep, wondering if it meant anything.

Two weeks later you sent me a drawing of Kir standing against Sara, kissing her. Blood dripped from their weapons. I thanked you. I was so horribly nervous. I took a risk. I told you how it had made me feel when you did that. I struggled to explain. You teased me for being so awkward. You accepted my thanks for the beautiful drawing.

As yourself you demanded a kiss from me in payment.

I gave it to you.

I had never been happier.
 
I don’t know you; I’ve never seen you. We’ve never held each other.

I like to pretend we had.

I think we were both nervous when we met again that fall. We saw each other for lunch once more. You showed me more of your notebook, what you’d drawn over the summer. I was writing a story for you, about two of the characters in your notes. We were both so awkward.

We didn’t have any classes together that fall. I invited you to study with me. I’m horrible at doing things with people. I’ve never really had much chance or inclination to. I guess some part of me thought studying together would be fun. For some reason you accepted. They had comfortable sofas in the study room. We sat together. After an hour and a half of letting me pretend to read as I paid attention to you, you leaned over and whispered in my ear. Suggested we go and get dinner. I agreed. I suggested Olive Garden. It was within walking distance.

As we ordered I teased you about wine now that we were both old enough to have some. You called my bluff. Turned out both of us could hardly stand it. We talked about stories for nearly two hours. I joked as we left that it was our first date. You teased that it was if I wanted it to be. I grinned and said sure then. I hadn’t realized it was a question.

I did want it to be our first.

When we reached your dormitory, you gave me a hug. I hugged you back. I’ve always liked giving hugs. You whispered in my ear if we were dating now, I owed you a kiss good-night. I hadn’t figured out what you’d meant earlier. You surprised me. I looked into your eyes and kissed you as best as I could. It wasn’t skillful, but it was gentle and sweet. And with you.

I’ve been saving that kiss. It was nothing like, and everything more, than what I’d hoped it would be.

I hoped it was the same for you. I liked to think it was.

Two days later you invited me to study with you in your dorm room. I brought my laptop with me. We didn’t study much, just sat on your bed. I showed you the story I had been writing about your characters. You blushed. I was so happy. You talked about Sara and Kir. Showed me some of your secret notes. Newer ones. A picture of two leopard-foxes kissing. You blushed even deeper when you showed me that.

I loved it. I showed it by teasing you. You pushed me over onto the pillows, then lay down next to me. I stared into your eyes for a minute. I felt like I could have done it forever. Then you bumped your nose to mine and rolled over, pressing yourself against me. I prayed you couldn’t feel my heart pounding against your back. I prayed you couldn’t feel other things. I put my arms around your waist, hugging you tight. I heard you sigh happily. I nuzzled mischievously at your long hair and the back of your neck.

I realized I loved you.

We lay like that until we heard your room-mate fumbling with her keys outside. I slept only three hours that night, finishing up the homework I hadn’t done as I held you. I didn’t regret a thing.

I don’t know you; I’ve never seen you.
We’ve never met.

I like to pretend we had.