"Hi," he said, sitting down beside me.

It was another mundane day at college and I was lazily flipping pages of a book.

"Oh, hi," I tried to hide my rising excitement as he leant closer.

"Why are you sitting alone?" he asked.

"Because as far as everyone else is concerned I'm as untouchable as a leper?" I replied curtly.

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

"Stop saying sorry!" I told, trying to sound angry. "If you want to be my friend stop treating me like I'm made of china."

"Okay, fine," he raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Did you just come to annoy me or did you want to talk?" I inquired.

"Annoying is always a bonus," his grin had my heart doing double-time in my chest. "But it would be good to get to know you better. You know; the sort of things you like, hate. What you dream about all those deep-seated desires..."

He had picked up one of my books and was thumbing the pages aimlessly.

"And what makes you think I'm going to open up to you? Do I look that gullible?"

I was teasing but I couldn't bear the look of disappointment in his eyes.

"Fine - but it's pretty boring if you really want to know. I don't have long term dreams... Why would I bother? Getting to see the latest vampire movie is up there, or watching the Super-Bowl with Dad. As for dislikes - let me think." He was watching me intently and it was making it so hard to concentrate. "I hate people who judge others by the way they look or dress and I hate to sit idle. I really love to write..."

"What!" he interrupted. "You write? You're an author? That's so damned cool."

"I'm not a published author or anything. I just do it because it's my passion. "

"Can I see something you've written," he asked. "Please," he added, so softly it was impossible to refuse him.

I pulled out my fat, leather-bound diary and he almost snatched it from my hands.

He opened it to the first page then flipped it over, trying to gauge the thickness and weight.

"You've written a hell lot," he commented, randomly flicking the pages till he came to a particular page.

He started reading and his eyes grew wide.

"This one is weird." He held the book away from him and squinted then began to read aloud.

"I'm drowning in sadness
I won't ever say that
I'm perfectly happy,
life is all rosy and that,
life has given me all I want because,
I proclaim that,
I've had dreams and aspirations but,
life isn't what it seems and
happiness, as I speak, it is beautiful,
if it really and truly exists though,
sadness will reign
I'll never again say that,
I'm just happy"

He scratched his head.

"It's a reverse poem," I explained.
"It gives two different meanings, forward and backwards. The two opposing forces of my life which never has a balance."

"Yeah I get it," he murmured.
"Sadness front to back, happiness reading the other way; that is so cool."

He looked so intent so serious as he read, it was hard not to tease him. "You sound like my English lecturer, only she would never say cool,"

"I bet she likes these though."

He flipped on pages while I opened my laptop to reveal an array of stories waiting to be published.

But his attention was attracted to my wallpaper. I had the picture of Russian actor, Danila Kozlovsky on my screen.

"Who's this?" he asked.

"Danila Kozlovsky, and I'm actually a great fan," I said.

"So what's so great about this man, other than the scalding hot looks and the film career?" he asked.

"He happens to be a trustee for the Detibabochki fund, an organisation for children like me based in Russia. They provide medicines and advanced treatments by skilled doctors and nurses. I really want to go and meet with him someday."

"That is such a weird name, d-e-t-i-b-a-b-o-c-h-k-i," he commented, dragging it out.

"It is in Russian," I chided. " 'Deti' means 'the' and 'babochki' means 'butterfly'. So it's called the Detibabochki fund as we're often called 'butterfly children'. Our skin is as fragile as butterfly wings. We have the Debra working here in the US and some other nations like Italy and Chile. They support us all."

"Someone is getting far too obsessed with Russians," he hinted, raising an eyebrow.

"YA lyublyu tebya," I said, to tease him.

"Now what does that mean?" he scratched his head.

"Find out," I chuckled. "Google it."

I tried to imagine his reaction when he found out the meaning.

It's the truth, I thought, I kind of love you. It was such a different feeling and it was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

Edited by lindajonesAuthor

A/N How do you like the reverse poem? It's not new for few who have read it in my collection of poetry... But for the others... Did you like it?

And well her obsession for some actor is quite understandable (Hope so😅)

YA lyublyu tebya is I love you in Russian 😉

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Thanks for supporting me throughout this book for the Wattys!