There were no "what if's" and "should have's" between Graham and Odette, but they did have their "way back when's." (Clearly, someone should have told them that trying to find out what happened to their non-existent relationship was more dangerous than regretting it.)

Author's Note:

I am experimenting with point-of-views and narrative styles so this will be very different from the typical novel most of us are used to. This will be told in two different kinds of point of views and time frames; third person omniscient, and third person limited. The titles will be an indicator of that. 

Chapter titles starting with "Way ____" will be in present third person omniscient.

Chapter titles starting with "Back ___" and "When ____" will be in past third person limited. 

So yeah just a heads up so you won't be confused.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I do writing it!

THIS BEGINNING starts with an end.

    It's the kind of end that sends every foreboding thought shivering down your spine, the kind of end that's more heart-breaking than a “let's just be friends,” the kind of end that screams “it's the end of the world as we know it!” at the top of its lungs.

    It's final exams week.

    It's the calm before the storm in the cramped study hall, the air laced in with an anxiety that eats at what little knowledge the students even have. A chill runs across the high walls, and it isn't because of the air conditioning – the blasted thing hasn't worked since the first day of school, though none of the students would know because most of them are here for the first time. It's the age-old dread that haunts the students, hanging over their too-heavy heads in constant threat. It shouldn't feel like a suspense-slash-thriller movie, but it does.

    If everyone wasn't so busy sweating bullets out of heat and stress they would notice the picture they paint; all the windows are open wide, letting the sunlight dance on messy table-tops as a chirping lullaby sings in the air. The room is filled with swirling particles of dust, highlighted by streamlines of light that hits every curve and line of their features just right. Stacks of books loom over them, encased in wooden shelves that shut them inside their chaotic paradise. No one notices the beautiful contradiction they take part in, their anxiety obliviously warring with the room's peace as the clock tick, tick, ticks.

    No one except Odette, that is, though she'd argue and write a hundred page paper for you about how how she is a no one if you ask about it.

    (So please don't).

    Odette's eyes rake over the room, drinking the scene in. There's a girl over by the back muttering curses a mile a minute about how her mother will decapitate her head if she doesn't pass calculus, and a friend seated beside her is trying to drown out the negativity with earphones blasting some indie rock band as he memorizes articles of the Constitution along with hums of indistinct lyrics. A table over, a boy is slumped over his Biology textbook, eyes peeled wide open as his brain tells him how doomed he is with every synonym he could possibly think of. Every table in the temporary refuge is littered with crumpled papers, worn books, and lifeless bodies, sunlight glaring at students in hopes of bleeding some knowledge into them. The students are in varying degrees of sleeplessness, some running on caffeine while others are just flat out asleep on top of the desks.

    To anyone else it would look depressing, but to Odette it's the funniest thing she has seen all year.

    She snickers as she pulls up an empty chair to sit in, and some four-eyed girl glares at her noise.

    Whoops.

    The slow extinction of the college population really shouldn't be that funny, but Odette keeps sniggering anyway, because her no-sleep-yet self apparently finds everything funny. She feels both drunk on tiredness and sober on awareness, the two blending in together so well that she has now given herself a massive headache.

    She snickers some more because wow she's a massive riot today.

She hasn't noticed yet, but in a table right across her sits Graham. He hasn't noticed yet either, as he busies himself with nibbling on the highlighter cap trapped between his lips, eyes straining at the practically foreign words staring back up at him from his Economics textbook. It's funny because once upon a time they breathed in each other's airspace; when they were together they couldn't not notice each other, and when they were over the same fact still held. Now, a year later, they are missing each other, both literally – as in, “I didn't see you there, and no, I'm not playing coy” – and metaphorically – as in, “I think of you more often than I would ever admit.” Still, they didn't notice and later they'll interpret that in different crazy and funny ways, because while people tend to be weird Graham and Odette breaks the scale.

    Graham's still alive and kicking, which is a miracle in itself because he has been in the state of just-barely-breathing the past year. He's still managing to intake bites of information in, but he still doesn't quite get how these economic graphs move. He will always, and forever will be, a words kind of guy. Numbers and lines just don't cut it for him.

    Odette is the exact opposite, because she lives and breaths numbers. She likes how they aren't relative – at least, not in the conventional sense. There's a formula and there's a method and there's a right answer. There are no opinions to mess up the equations because they're all facts, and Odette loves that at least something in her life is a constant.

    She never did understand, but she herself wasn't – isn't – a constant, no matter how much she thinks she is. Far from it, even.

    Pencil.

    Paper.

    Calculator.

    Textbook.

    Page 38.

    She cycles the process of answering practice sets for Advanced Trigonometry, a small smile creeping up her lips as she goes. This is order and organization and she is too enamored by it to notice that Graham has finally – finally – seen her.

    Isn't it just convenient that Graham's carefully practiced speech, born from endless thinking and sulking for days on end, has gone somewhere and refuses to come back? The Universe must be mad at him, because he did not piece himself back together just to have it all fall apart. And they do fall apart, piece by agonizing piece, with every blink of Odette's eyes and every heartbeat against his chest. Falling, falling, falling, like the day he fell for her and she had caught him.

    Who's going to catch him now?

    He shoves back the no one that pushes itself to the forefront of his thoughts, concentrating instead in trying to stay out of sight. It's the worst possible time to be distracted by Odette, but his eyes have a mind of their own. They stay stuck on her, on her perfectly combed hair and her perfectly pressed clothes and her perfectly made-up face. Something in him clenches the way he wants to mess everything up; to let her hair loose and her clothes wrinkle and her face make-up free.

        He reminds himself this isn't the Odette he knew, not anymore, but his treacherous brain answers back “But did you know her at all?” Then all his systems shuts down, because her eyes meet his and suddenly everything is not alright.

    Odette hates the word “alright” because she is an advocate of the “okay.” So in her case, everything is not okay. Not when Graham is right there in front of her. Not when the bitter disdain bubbles within her. Not when an aching longing burns through her. Not when all these things are simultaneously happening within her, and she is just one human being who cannot possibly contain this much emotion. She does not want to boil over.

    Not again.

    She inhales and she's in control.

        She exhales and she's lost control.

            Inhale.

                Exhale.

                    Inhale.

                        Exhale.

    Only Graham ever did manage to do this to her.

    She wants to smooth down the mess he's made of his curly hair. She wants to run her fingers across his cheek to check if they still felt the same. She wants to yank the highlighter cap away from his mouth so she can throw it and break it. She wants to slap him, fast and hard.

    She wants but can't get, and that's basically Rule # 1 for Odette: Look but don't touch.

    You would think a year is enough. Enough to get used to seeing each other around campus, at least, watching the empty space beside the other and wondering what it looked like when you were there. But Odette and Graham are majoring in different things, so their classes are held in buildings far, far away from each other. The few mutual friends they have wisely chose a side to stick to, and they don't run in the same social circles. Their break-up a year ago was entirely too easy to get over.

    Or so they thought.

    They're the only two people in their little world. A table away. A heartbeat away. A breath away. A blink away. Beyond them, heads are still bowed over books and the sun still makes its way across the sky. Nothing stops, like how nothing stopped the day they fell in love, nor the day they fell out of it. It's only them, suspended in the moment, staring the way they did when the world first introduced them to each other.

    Odette remembers the day they met as a Tuesday.

    Graham remembers it as a Monday.

    It was actually a Wednesday, but that little misstep doesn't matter. It's not the whens or the whats or the hows they care about, but the single, big WHY. And of course, like most things they go against, they choose to ask the most difficult question, because no one really knows why except themselves. The problem with themselves is that they didn't know why. It's a circular problem, and it appeals to Odette's math instincts as much as it does to Graham's philosophic inclinations.

    They avert their eyes simultaneously.

    (Odette thinks Graham looks away first and of course Graham thinks it's the other way around. They're calling each other pussies in their own thought process, but they don't need to know that.)

    Graham very briefly considers talking to her, but he cringes at the thought of her ignoring him – which is very likely. It feels like committing seppuku like the olden Japanese samurais do, except in his case it wouldn't be very honorable at all. He ditches the option quickly because he isn't a martyr and he'd very much like to keep his honor intact. Besides, what would he even say? “Hi” is lame. “What's up” is douchey. “Insert funny pick-up line here” is just inappropriate.

    He never did figure out how to start conversations without being so awkward. Conversation-starters have always felt like a formula to him; if you get the formula, you get the art of conversation-starting. But he hated formulas and he hated starting conversations so he had always left those things with Odette. So if he sits tight, she would probably come over herself if she wants to.

    If she doesn't hate him.

        Or abhor him.

            Or detest him.

                Or despise him.

    (Sometimes when he's nervous he goes on an internal tangent with synonyms of words. It feels like a game with himself and it helps him relax.)

    Graham goes on with his synonym list, mentally occupied as he physically stares at his textbook. Odette not-so-subtly watches him think, noting the crease in his brows and the small pout on his lips. She quirks a grin at the absurdity of it: no matter how many days pass there are some things that never change; in particular, how Graham still manages to look young and lost despite his towering six foot five height and neatly-pressed button down. She softens the smile at the sight of the shirt, even as she vanishes the memory that tries to unfold itself.

    Not now.

    She suddenly feels a wave of tired washing over her. This really isn't a good time or day or week to deal with this. But then again, there will probably never ever be a good time for it. These things should just generally not happen, but unfortunately people don't just disappear when you want them to.

    (If they did she would have disappeared ages ago.)

    Maybe she should leave. She wants to crawl back into bed and sleep away the tired, but she knows she won't wake-up soon enough to study for tomorrow's exam. She tries to think of other places she can go to study, but quickly realizes that if she leaves now Graham might think that she's running away – which she totally isn't, so shut up imaginary Graham.

    She takes another peek at him, but he hasn't moved much. He has just propped his book up against the table, slouching in his seat, with the same crinkled-eyebrows-and-pouting-lips look. She focuses on the title of the textbook, and when she sees that its on Economics she can't help being proud of him, no matter how much of an annoying idiot he can be.

    Graham's eyes snap back up to hers.

    Odette looks away, mentally cursing.

    It's way too early for this.