This is a story of how a boy met a girl.

She sat cross-legged on the bench across the pond. Nothing about her struck him as terribly amazing, there was nothing special about her appearance but he watched the way her fingers graced the pages of her book and the way she pushed back her hair as she smoked. He had never seen someone so fragile. Her hair was long and unmanageable, trailing down to the small of her back. A wispy fringe covered her forehead. As her eyes wandered and her face turned, he saw a symbol, or perhaps writing not clearly legible, under her left ear. Her tiny figure was engulfed in an oversized jumper with moth holes adorning the front and back. She held her cigarette like a precious ornament. He was staring when she looked up; it was too sudden for him to realize it was going to happen so he just held his gaze. He could not understand why his heart was beating the way it was. Hardly racing, the way it ought to, the way it does in novels; it was intermittent and it almost felt ominous. She stared back, blowing smoke.