BookTalk

He follows me soundlessly showcasing his graceful movements. "Why do you sit here?" he asks while sitting himself in a chair infront of me.

"Because I like to."

My irritation seems to amuse him. "Any specific reason for that?" He asks again patiently.

I want to say that it isn't his business but I find my voice spilling out the actual reason.

"Because it feels good to be at an uncrowded spot where no one looks at you and you can forget this world a little more easily and smile and widen your eyes at a book knowing no one is judging you. And when you've read long enough, you can just look up and admire the effect stories have on other people," I force myself to stop from blabbering. It's hard to say anything other than the truth while staring back at those gray ocean of eyes.

His face has grown thoughtful, for once not looking at me like I'm insane. "Is that why you always sit here?" He says like he knows that I sit here everytime.

I narrow my eyes at him, "Are you stalking me?"

He chuckles for a second and then looks surprised, like he's unsure that sound just came from him. But, the next moment he is perfectly composed. It's a roller-coaster of emotions in a mere few seconds.

"Like I said, you are simply predictable," he concludes.

"And you are rude."

"I am," he nods. "So, why the analysis on Wuthering Heights?"

I was expecting him to forget about that. I really don't want to talk about my book philosophies with him. Specially since he already thinks I'm retarded.

Then I remember something he said yesterday and decide to humor it, "That's irrelevant."

He cheers up again, "See? You notice details. Another sign you're a student of literature." He looks proud of his own accuracy.

I grit my teeth and take a deep breath. "You seem awfully interested in my details so how about you answer one of my questions and I answer yours?" I consider my own proposal for a moment and nod when it seems profitable.

"Fair enough! Ladies first," he encourages witenthusiastic smile. I am surprised he is letting me go first but I highly doubt it's born of chivalry.

"Where are you from?" I blurt out. Of all the things I want to know, I ask him where he lives! Maybe it's his smell that's blocking my mental fluency. The sweet lavendar and that dark smell is poisonously good.

Of course he laughs at my question. "Not here," he shrugs with a godly smirk.

"You are not playing fair."

"I didn't know we had rules," he counters.

"We don't, game's over!" I open one of the book with the intention to read and fai miserably.

"I'm sorry if I am being rude again, it's just...how I am." he murmurs uncomfortably.

I look up at him from under my lashes and the dark stare startle me. They are brooding with sincerity. Maybe he is right? Maybe beauty and rudeness come in the same gene.

"That's not necessary you know,"

He shoots me a confused look. Its amazing how perfectly I can read his face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...just because you are...umm beautiful and everything doesn't necessarily mean that you have to be rude," I explain. His face go blank with my words.

He sits in silence for a long second before speaking again. "I'm from New York. We must have met before if I lived here," He answers my long forgotten question, swiftly changing the topic again. I watch a smirk lift the corner of his lips but his eyes still has a hint of something dark.

"New York?" I frown.

"Yes," he answers dismissively.

"Why the accent then?" It doesn't sound fake so I assumed he was British or something.

"I spent most of my educational year in England. A private school and then Oxford." I didn't need to know he was that smart!

"Why?" I ask. Oxford sounds great but that still seems like a lot of years away from home.

"My dad had a thing for the British Curriculum."

"Had?" I regret my impudence as soon as the words are out.

"Yeah he passed," he states grimly.

"I'm sorry."

He looks at me like he's searching for something. "Yeah me too," he whispers.

"So why are you here?" I change the subject this time around.

"You are just not satisfied, are you?" He asks, smiling and melting my heart.

"I don't like to be half blind," I tell him with a shrug, managing back my wits.

"Maybe you would like it more, if you see it as 'half enlightenment' " he says, making me smile. "Alright! I think you've had more than your share of questions. You still didn't tell me why the research on Wuthering heights."

"For someone who likes being half enlightened, you sure ask a lot of questions."

"Who told you I like being half enlightened?" He folds his hands together and places it neatly on the table. And oh, the long sleek fingers!

I clear the sudden lump in my throat. "Haven't you heard that you should practice what you preech?"

He smiles with a satisfaction, all the while his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm past the stage of practice Eileen." There's something stomach crunching-ly weird about him calling my name. "I am habituated with getting what I want," he adds.

"Okay," I mutter, doodling with the pages, not sure of what else to say. He is sitting like he is doing some business deal. His posture makes me straighten my back.

"You don't give up, do you?" He finally breaks the tense silence that has suddenly blanketed us. It takes me a moment to realise what he's implying.

I let out a resigned sigh. "I read a lot of classics! It's not a big deal if I research on any of them, it could even be my homework you know--,"

He opens his mouth to interrupt but I hold out my index finger to stop him and continue, "but you are right. I do have a reason for this one in particular."

He patiently waits for me to continue when I pause.

"Well, it's just today during class something in between discussions made me think that, maybe...Catherine was just racist. Maybe besides the status and wealth she got from Edgar she didn't marry Heathcliff because she didn't like the way he looked? Foreign and new. Maybe that is the reason that despite their obvious connection of souls they couldn't end up together. But now that I say it out loud, it sounds deviously stupid," I finish. I should have never uttered these words. He is staring at me with amused eyes.

"Why do you have the idea that only Catherine was responsible for their disaster?" His words assure me that he has enough knowledge on the book and the fact genuinely pleases me.

"I didn't say that. But if it weren't for her selfishness and whatever reason she had, none of it would have happened in the first place. Any one of them were enough to stop their destruction but no one did."

"You are beautiful," he says shattering my thought train. My heart fluctuates. How a sentence that simple startles me both physically and internally is absolutely amazing!

"What?" I stammer.

"You are intriguing! I have never wanted to know anyone this way before. Hell I have never met anyone like you before."

"I don't know what you are saying," I tell him with an awkward laugh.

"I don't have any idea either," he mutters back and realize he means it.

"Well then I should go. I am running late anyway," I glance at my phone and I am past my allocated time in the library.

"Now?" He asks with evident surprise while I start to arrange my books. He helps me after watching my miserable attempts at that.

"Yes," I say, suddenly feeling the urgency to leave. I can't afford this kind of conversation every now and then. Somewhere in between this conversation I forgot that I am permanently damaged. For a second I felt like a normal girl who feels adrenaline rushes and butterflies in her stomach. But I am reminded now that that is not my life to live.

I start to rush out of the library once I am done with packing my bag. "Let me give you a lift?" He says from behind me as I start to walk through the library. But there's an uncertainty evident in his voice. He knows I'll refuse.

"No, thank you! I have a car."

"Eileen?" He calls with so much intensity, I am forced to stop mid-step. I turn around slowly. The moment I see his face it literally melts my heart and I mean it this time.

He looks confused and innocent like a little boy, all the authority and control gone from his face.

"Yes?" I prompt with a soft tone, all my determinations fading.

"What's wrong?" He asks. I stare at him and I don't ever want to look away.

"Everything," I tell him.

He breathes in. "You wanted to know me, I'm Aeson." Aeson! I test the name in my head.

"Goodbye Aeson!" My words clearly startle him for the tiniest second. Then he starts walking towards me with gracefully long strides. It's like watching a brand ambassador of some billion dollar clothing line, do a ramp walk.

He comes and stops right infront of me. His face is inches away from mine, his smell unbearably close. Lifting his right hand, he slowly places it on my cheek, trailing my skin and burning it on it's way. The cold metal ring on his middle finger sends shiver down my spine.

He brings his face closer and says ever so softly, "I will see you again. Very soon." And before I could completely feel his warm breath, he is gone with a blow of cold air. I want to turn around and watch him walk out of the large entrance. Instead, I stand still, thinking about what he just did. How this whole event was supposed to be horrifying for me. I was supposed to scream away from him even on the slightest hint of his intentions. But I am standing here still, thinking how this has been the most breath taking moment of my life. How the horror mixed with all the years of anticipation, have spilled out in this small moment, making it the most erotic experience in what little of it I've ever had.

My heart is still pounding audibly through my chest, reminding me of it's presence after so long. But I'm confident that whatever I felt just now, it's just a heat of the moment thing. It will fade and I will eventually go back under my sheet of numbness. With that reassuring conclusion, I take a refining breath. Then turn around and walk out of the library.