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“It’s nice,” he says softly. “Your hair was beautiful before, and it’s still beautiful now.”
There’s a flustered look on his face, and my self-consciousness eases. My heart does another somersault and there’s a fluttering in my stomach.
“I drew you because you looked sad and lonely,” Jay finally confesses, in that same deep voice of his. “I wanted to capture that.”
“You wanted to capture my loneliness?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “There’s a beauty in loneliness and there’s always something else that accompanies it. Do you ever wonder why the songs are sadder, the sunset is prettier and the sky is more starry when we’re lonely?”
I don’t know how to answer that question, so I stay silent.
“It’s because of longing. We yearn for something we don’t have. And I saw that on your face. The yearning for something that you can’t possibly put to words. I wanted to capture that moment. The look in your eyes.”
My breathing stutters. “Jay,” I blurt out, but then my words escape me, and I don’t know what to say. So, I stare at him, like a stupid, helpless girl.
His gaze never leaves mine — dark, intense and compelling.
I feel that flutter in my stomach again.
The sound of a phone ringing has both of us flinching back and whatever moment we were just having shatters. Jay shoves his hand into his pocket and takes out his phone. “Sorry, that’s my alarm.”
“Oh.”
“I have to go…” he trails off.
“Oh,” I say again. Speak up, Riley. You’re starting to sound stupid!
He packs up his pencils and then stands. I mutely do the same. Now that we’re both standing, I can see the actual height difference between us. He’s really tall, just like I had assumed earlier. I would have to crane up my neck and probably stand on my toes for us to be eye-level.
“Dinner is at seven,” Jay explains quietly, his voice softening with something akin to disappointment.
I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to explain himself to me…but I still can’t talk. So I stand there, dumbly. Until he pushes his hand between us, for a handshake?
“It was nice to meet you, Daisy.”
I blink, taking his hand. His much bigger, rougher hand. His touch is warm. I look down at our entwined hands — his tanned skin a deep contrast against my paleness. He squeezes my hand, and my lungs clench inside the walls of my rib cage.
“Nice to meet you too, Jay,” I finally speak, but it’s barely a whisper.
I release his hand and he takes a step back. I want to ask him for his real name — but then I stop myself. If he tells me his real name…he’ll expect me to do the same.
And I don’t want to be Riley Johnson to him — to the mystery man who drew me so flawlessly. Who stole my loneliness and my yearning to capture it on his paper.
I want to stay as Daisy Buchanan and him as Jay Gatsby.
It’s better this way. Safer.
I watch as he walks away, with my face etched on the papers of his sketchbook.
He saw me, when no one else has ever done so, or even tried. I don’t know if we will ever meet again, but I know…that my mystery man has somehow buried himself into the deep corner of my heart. Somewhere dark, a place where no one can see him. Not even himself.
He will stay there, safe. Away from the chaos that is me and my life.
I watch as he walks away, and soon enough, his tall frame disappears from my sight. “Goodbye, Jay,” I whisper and the wind carries my voice.
***
I grab my chicken mayo sandwich from my bag and make my way outside. Berkshire’s hallways are fairly empty, since mostly everyone is in the cafeteria for lunch.
