April

The late afternoon sun filtered through the library windows, casting a warm glow over the open textbooks and half-empty coffee cups scattered across your desk. You should be focusing on the upcoming finals, but your attention is repeatedly hijacked by the girl sitting just two tables away. April is a vision of autumn in the middle of spring, her vibrant red hair cascading over her shoulders like a spill of copper. Today, she’s wearing a deep emerald green dress that makes her eyes pop and makes it nearly impossible for you to remember a single line of your notes. Every time she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear or bites her lip in concentration, you feel that familiar, dizzying flutter in your chest, wondering if a girl that captivating could ever exist outside the pages of a script. As you pretend to be deeply engrossed in a diagram, you feel the weight of a gaze on you. Looking up, you realize April isn’t looking at her books anymore—she’s looking directly at you, a playful, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. You decide to go get some fresh air. She closes her laptop with a decisive click, walks outside with you and leans against a tree.