She sat with one leg folded on top of the other, her eyes fixated on a stack of square neon sheets of paper. I’ve seen her before – if not in class, then mostly at the library. Always with headphones shoved into her ears, and her lips opening and closing periodically while her head bobbed back and forth. 

I remembered when I saw her at the cafe, just a couple weeks ago. Her face was buried in a textbook as her fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee. I recognized her from class (we were in the same classes – the perks of being enrolled in the same major). I had the guts to shuffle my feet toward the table she was sitting at and utter “Hi.” Her eyes initially widened when she saw me, but then they softened. Her lips curled into a smile as she responded, “Hey,” sparking a four hour conversation on everything ranging from a chemist-entertainer we binged (way before we could comprehend the reactions behind his stunts) to chocolate milkshakes. The conversation would have probably spilled on for longer, but the cafe closes at midnight, and the barista shot us annoyed glances as the clock ticked closer to that time. 

Now, the “Hi,” was stuck in my throat. I opened my mouth, then closed it as the words evaporated from my tongue, fading into air like it was the byproduct of some chemistry reaction. I don’t know why I didn’t offer a hint of a smile or raise my hand to wave as I sat down. Maybe it was because what happened at the cafe was a fluke. Usually, I would approach people and start conversations – though it was mostly small-talk, introducing straightforward details about ourselves such as our name, hometown and college major – and never see those people again. What if you mess this – whatever this is – up? 

She didn’t look up. She probably didn’t notice me. Instead, her fingers tugged at a piece of paper, removing it from the stack and laying it flat on the wooden table that sat between us. She folded the corners inward, forming some type of diamond shape. Oh, she must enjoy origami as well. 

 The library was less crowded than usual. The only people in sight were some history professors; they ran their fingers along the spines of ancient history textbooks, engaged in hushed chatter that didn’t make sense in the way chemistry and math equations did. Maybe she feels the same way.

 Her fingers crawled across the page, leaving creases in various places. Then, a figure began to emerge from the folds. A triangular shape popped up, followed by another to form what looked like two wings. A crane. Her elbow brushed against the stack of papers, sending a couple sheets upward; they were carried by the breeze of the library air conditioning before gracing the tile floor. Her gaze flicked upward as one hand tugged at the edge of the paper on the ground – careful not to crumple it – and for a moment our eyes locked. 

You don’t want her to think you’re staring. I scolded myself, quickly diverting my eyes to my keyboard and pretending to type some notes on my laptop. Yet, the words on my screen blurred out of focus, and my eyes still found a way back to her. Should I try and talk to her? Try and start a conversation? The same questions whirled in my head during the lectures. I would approach where she was sitting, and the thought of filling in the empty seat next to her crossed my mind; then, at the last second, my feet would turn around. Occasionally, our eyes would meet across the lecture hall, and both of us would glance down at the same time, as if the floor was the most interesting thing in the whole world. 

Suddenly, the pencil she was using to perfect her creases rolled across the table and hit the floor. Her eyes darted toward it, but my hand had already grabbed it, handing it to her. 

“Uh, here you go,” I muttered. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and all the words I wanted to say vanished from my mind. 

“Thank you,” She nodded, offering a small smile as she took the pencil. 

I looked down at my laptop again. You could have said something! You should have commented on how good her cranes are! She was now folding the third one; the first two – a neon pink and blue – sat on the edge of the table upside down, their wings colliding. 

The thoughts danced around in my head, moving faster and faster. But still, no words came out. Maybe that’s a good thing. What if you’re too awkward? 

But with her, I thought it was different. Bits of the conversation from the cafe replayed in my mind. The way her long strands of hair bounced when she laughed after I delivered my cringe-worthy organic chemistry jokes, and the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about becoming a researcher were still fresh images in my head. How does friendship happen, anyway?  

Meanwhile, she inhaled a deep breath – the sound echoing in the silence of the library – and pulled a new sheet of paper in front of her. The third crane lay piled on top of the rest, and they were all slightly crumpled. They’re all masterpieces.  

It was a red sheet, and she practiced basic folding patterns, creating a heart and then a star. Usually, I take at least a minute to make one fold, holding my breath as I made sure I didn’t fold over the guiding line I marked. Her hands were fast and confident, folding from one corner of the paper to the other. Her brows wrinkled, and she didn’t know that I was looking at her, watching, hoping that a figment of a conversation starter would land at the tip of my tongue. Hair fell over her forehead, and even though the headphones were still in her ear, her lips were pressed into a thin line. I wonder what song she’s listening to– 

Just as I was about to open my mouth, her chair screeched, sliding across the floor. I glanced up, only to realize she was already headed toward the garbage can on the other side of the room. She held the wrinkled origami pieces against her chest, and tossed them into the garbage bin. 

But those were amazing! Why would you throw them away? I scooted forward in my chair, but hesitated. No…

She returned to the table and sat down, sliding her pencil into a spot in her 

backpack. 

For a brief second, our eyes met. Did she smile? I looked down, severing that 

small moment of connection. 

My water bottle was empty, and conveniently, the garbage can was located next to the refill station. I shut my laptop, and found myself leaning over the garbage can. The cranes mingled with a rotten banana peel, and one of the wings ripped off, having fallen into a plastic cup of half-empty orange juice.

As for the blue and pink cranes – though their bodies were crumpled, the tips of their wings still touched each other. 

I hope you enjoyed the story! 🙂 Check out this column for more creative writing!