Weird form of Magnetism

As I strolled down the street toward my apartment, I felt the weight of the day pressing down on me. School had been especially overwhelming. I still couldn't wrap my head around why five of our professors decided to assign us homework to take home, all due first thing tomorrow. Honestly, if this wasn't the work of the prince of darkness, then I don't know what is.

The vibration of my phone jolted me from my thoughts, and I sighed as I reached into the pocket of my jeans.

When I saw the caller ID, I froze, a tightness settling in my chest.

Clearing my throat, I forced a broad smile as I answered. "Hey, Mom," I said, continuing my walk.

"Hey, baby! How are you?" she replied, her warm voice wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.

I chuckled, albeit weakly. "I've been good. How about you? How have you and Dad been?" Her light laughter was playful as she teased me.

"You'd know if you called us like you used to." I knew she was joking, but the guilt that washed over me was intense. I swallowed hard.

"Mom, I'm really sorry. School has been hectic." It was half true. Yes, school was a whirlwind, but that didn't excuse my silence. I adored my parents, but there were reasons I didn't call often.

"Now, Somadina, can you tell me how you're really feeling?" There it was—the question I dreaded.

My heart raced, and I felt a familiar panic. Not this again.

When I didn't respond, she pressed on. "Have you seen Dr. Fredrick? You know Emeka's…"

"Oh, Mom, I have to go. My battery is low, and I need to plug it in. Talk later, love you!" I hung up, not waiting for her reply. Another lie.

My battery was perfectly fine, and I still had a five-minute walk ahead of me.

I tucked my phone away and brushed my hair back with my now-free hand—a not-so-smart move with my natural hair.

As I placed my hand back down, I felt the familiar sting of tears. Sniffing, I wiped my face.

Lost in thought, I barely noticed my surroundings. Moments later, I bumped into something solid and muttered an apology, already knowing I'd collided with a person.

I expected them to step aside, but they didn't move. Realizing I had to shift, I turned, only to find that this person had the same idea. Frowning slightly, I looked up in annoyance, and of course, it had to be him.

"Adina?" Zachary's familiar voice was oddly soothing.

Instead of pleasantries, I let out an unladylike snort. "Of course, I'd run into you here of all places." Lowering my voice, I muttered to myself, "It's like we have some weird form of magnetism."

A tiny smirk appeared on his face before he replied, "Not magnetism. Just a coincidental reoccurrence. It might sound too good to be true, but we both know that's all it is." The playful wink he threw my way was unexpected and definitely not the Zachary I knew. Despite my annoyance, I couldn't suppress a smile. He looked utterly ridiculous doing that.

"True that. Now, could you let me pass? I really need to get home," I said, hoping I didn't sound too rude. I was not in the best mood.

He shrugged. "Sure, but first, I'd like to know why you're crying." I froze at his sudden question.

"I thought you couldn't recognize faces?" I blurted out, then added, "Wait, how did you even know it was me?" I was pretty sure Zachary had called my name before I'd said a word, which meant he wasn't using his usual method of identification.

Rolling his eyes—an action that was oddly mesmerizing—he explained, "Having prosopagnosia means I can't recognize faces, but it doesn't mean I can't see tears streaming down someone's face. I can't read your expressions, but I can see the tears."

I got his point but was still curious. "So how did you know it was me?"

With an exasperated sigh, he answered, "Your walking pattern, your bag, the way you always style your hair, and the necklace you wear all the time. I wasn't sure about the last one until I got closer." I blinked, surprised by his observations. "Those are how people with prosopagnosia recognize others." It made sense; I remembered reading about how people with face blindness adapted. My hair, bag, and necklace were all consistent features. The necklace was particularly important to me, and I rarely took it off.

"Oh," I muttered softly as I sniffled, hoping my tears would dry soon.

"To answer your question," I adjusted my bag, "I'm crying because I'm frustrated about school. It's nothing serious." And even if it was serious, why did he care? We were practically strangers sharing the same school.

'And having strange encounters,' my subconscious chimed in.

Zachary didn't seem convinced by my vague answer, but thankfully, he didn't probe any further.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I really need to get home." I didn't wait for his response and sidestepped him, continuing down the street. I genuinely wasn't in the mood for more interaction. Still, Zachary had unexpectedly lifted my spirits.

After a five-minute walk, I was relieved to see my apartment building ahead. But then, a thought made me stop, and I turned to him, carefully choosing my words.

"Why are you following me, Zach?" I asked, a hint of irritation in my voice.

"Oh wow, we're on a nickname basis now?" he replied playfully. I felt my agitation rise again. I couldn't believe he'd followed me for five minutes. Who does that?

"And also…" he added, "I'm not following you." I wasn't ready for his next revelation.

"I live here." Ugh, of course he did.