I remember a time, where my heart fluttered and I was so conscious of it, so conscious of how quickly it beat.

I don't believe in love at first sight, but I'll understand, fully understand if anyone said, crush at first sight.

He wasn't particularly handsome, but there was a pleasantness of features that drew my eyes to him - he was bespectacled, and his specs were not chunky, but gently, gracefully framed his eyes. He looked so smart and neat, seemingly having a potential to be earnest, sweet and caring in his ways.

There was pleasure, for lack of a better word, at the realisation that he was in the same group as me, and that I was his assistant, no less. He was a guy of few words, short simple statements that convey his point effectively. He didn't even say yes usually, he just nodded. There seemed to be no excessiveness about him, no frivolousness. And he was smart, a decisive leader, persuasive with minimal words. So different he was from me, and yet I was charmed even more.

White seemed to become him, and with that, the familiar phrase prince charming in white surfaced to mind. So used I was to thinking of him in white that when searching for his figure among the crowd, I would looked for a white t-shirt, before being momentarily confused when I realised he was not in white today, but grey. It happened, not once, not twice, but four, five times, before the notion that he was wearing grey got imprinted in my mind.

He did however, wore wore white the next day.

An acrobat, he was too. And when we asked him to swing himself up onto the beams of the roof of the terrace, to protect our balloons from other groups (we were playing a game), he looked up briefly, before responding in his usual succinct manner, "ok, can". The grace, the realisation of his strength and agility as he swung himself was... beauty.

I took a chance to tell him he looked good in white after the camp. There was no follow-up, and things ended there.

But that's just as well, perhaps. For he left a beautiful impression.

Parched. Endless blackholes. Places where you can't see the light. Gloom, despair, depression, hurt.

Hurt.

So close to crying, it's so intense. Unable to cry, because they're not my own, and there's still a distance. An ache, for the pride or plain sheer stubbornness that stops his tears.

And we say, let it go when one can't cry. And don't cry to those who do cry.