Mr. Mysterious

The finals are approaching closely and the library has become my new ghetto. Sipping filtered coffee on my breaks is the highlight of my afternoons, in between study sessions which I carry out with my study buddy and soul sister Mary. Mary motivates me to get the grades. Neither of us are really that academically brilliant, but ambitious and hardworking you cannot deny us.

Amidst the highlighters, notepads and carefully classified revision notes my eyes are distracted by a new presence loitering in the aisles. He is not making noise, but gestures so loud that one cannot help but notice the show he has on display. One earphone in and the other dangling on his neatly tucked in shirt. He irons his clothes, this I cannot help but observe, which motivates me to build the first positive judgment about Mr Mysterious... He's on his phone, which would classify as the coolest most illegal action to perform in a university library. So he's a bad boy, or maybe such assumptions are a little unfair.

"Stop wasting your time chica, I’m testing you in half an hour!" says Mary in a whisper. She's right, I need to focus on what's important. A mild thought lingers far behind though, who is he and how is it that I had not seen him before? Our test sessions can best be described as a live talk show, where Mary adopts the role of Oprah, Ricky and pretty much anyone you want her to be, not to mention our accent changes which add that spice to the conversation. We find this study system adds volume and appeal to the lame and mind numbingly boring management terms, which later play positively on our memory during an exam, often resulting in a chuckle or two for both Mary and myself.

So engrossed have we become in our reality show that neither one has noticed a new member has joined us on the large mahogany table. His books are haphazardly placed, along with a bottle of water and a mini disc player. He's quietly conversing with one of the architects in my year, which gives me a clue that if he is an architect, then Alison must know him. I cannot help but discreetly stare at him. How the hell does one stare discreetly? Get a grip and stop making it obvious I tell myself.

I need caffeine, come on let's go downstairs! Making our way through the long passageway, my eyes are glued to the aisles, hoping to get a glimpse of him. No luck! We join the queue to get our confectionary and beverages, discussing our next topic of revision for the following hour. "What's your plan for the weekend then?" A little shopping and perhaps the later cinema session on Saturday night. I do want to get some revision done, before I can take a break. I'm just about finishing my sentence, but my ears are drawn to a voice. "Fruit pastilles and bottle of water please." A deep American voice is what gives vocal identity to Mr Mysterious. I am tickling inside and he has not even spoken directly to me. Suddenly filtered coffee goes from being a highlight to a stale slice of bread, and hearing an American English accent seems to cross all erotic boundaries.

I cannot explain how he looks. This is irrelevant as his actions, voice and general presence set a bigger impression on me. Everything else suddenly seems cloudy and the rest of the canteen is just radio silence, as I absorb this figure and his aura.  

"Are we going back up, or do you need to check your email?" Mary and I have code too. Checking your email means hanging around this level a little longer, for any important appointments one may have in the library. I find myself being sucked into a crush that I can really only admire from a distance, and for all I knew Mr. Mysterious probably had a gorgeous, tall, slim and model like girlfriend.

I log in only to find a few boring forwards, which I actually take my sweet time reading only to hope that Mr. Mysterious will make an entry and decide to check his email at the computer which is free right next to mine. This is of course another one of my Sydney Sheldon fantasies which never seem to come true. I am about to log out and I see an email from Alison. She must be wanting to check on the weekend plan I'm sure. She always calls or texts though.

I open it and cannot believe what I am reading. "He's called me from the library twice, to ask if you are seeing someone and whether or not he can ask you out. What the hell are you wearing and why have you not paid any attention to him, he is sitting at your table for crying out loud! Call me."

I log out of my email discreetly and head back up to my table with the biggest and most discreet grin on my face. Just another study session.