Connected Rhythms

Picking up my bag, I wave my hand in a soft quake directed to my friends as we go our separate ways to lessons, hearing the bell announce the last hour of school. I check my schedule for my last class as I stroll down the halls to spot science – the most inexplicable and lifeless subject I’ve ever attended.

Hauling myself down the corridors of the school, I eventually reach my class and enter. I walk past groups of others gossiping, receiving gestures from some, as everyone waits for the teacher to turn up. I distinguish the only seat in the room that was set in the far corner of the classroom and right next to the quiet boy of the class. I make my way over and sit myself down as I let my bag slide off the point of my shoulder and allow it to lean against the leg of the desk. Sliding my AirPods in, I permit my hair to flow, sinking my ears behind them so my AirPods wouldn’t come out as visible. The teacher walks in and settles into the room, descending the students afterward and beginning the lesson.

As I tilt my head back, rocking onto my chair, I feel a tender tap on my shoulder to find the quiet boy. He was gazing at me with a pair of cloudy eyes – eyes that showed a curiosity deep within, his face just millimetres away from my own. After a moment, I found myself primarily studying him and changed my expression swiftly to signal my uncertainty. “What are you listening to?” he murmured under with a Polish accent. I question myself before tucking a group of hair behind my ear as I let an AirPod slide out of my ear, landing onto the palm of my hand. Why would the quiet boy of the class want to know what music the popular girl is listening to? I reach my hand out as I hint for him to take the object. As he obtained the AirPod, I couldn’t help but notice his hands, a pale tanned surface with veins streaming from his knuckles all the way up his arm, rings sheltering the parts of his fingers just above his seashell pink knuckles. He inserts the AirPod into his ear and faintly leans forward into his chair as he sketches something, after a minute, onto a piece of paper by his book. 

I open my eyes after what seems like a minute to realise the school bell is chiming. Tugging my head up from my desk, I discovered a folded piece of paper and my AirPod placed on top. I swiftly pack up my bag, lifting it up from the floor as it perches onto the surface of my shoulder. As soon as I exit the classroom, I slip the AirPod back into my other ear and unfold the peculiar piece of paper, admiration taking up every space of emotion. A drawing of me. It appeared as me in slumber. My head rested upon my folded arms, settled onto the desk beneath them, my hair had fallen onto part of my face yet there was still ample detail laid on the aspects of my profile. At the bottom corner of the paper, it read “You have good taste in music” and a username listed just under the drawing. @marcelibrozek. 

After waiting at the bus stop for a little while, the bus had arrived. I stepped in and gave my ticket to the driver as I made my way to the near back of the vehicle. Letting my bag slide off my shoulder and onto the seat, I lightly flump onto the chair next to my bag and take my phone out. I assume the username is off of Instagram so I access the app and type in the tag to reveal an account with the face of the quiet boy. Marceli Brozek – that sounds pretty, I think to myself. 

I scrolled through Marceli’s profile as I stumbled upon a photo that grabs my attention. He was sitting on a dark chair in front of a mirror, grasping his phone toward it. He was wearing a black shirt, clutched to his torso, with baggy jet-black joggers. His legs were slightly spread as he was slumped into his chair with one arm resting upon his thigh. His eyes weren’t cloudy but were a smoky grey that showed a manipulation, having me hooked, despite his device obscuring the bottom half of his face. His dark, beige hair was tousled, covering parts of his face. Part of his hair was tied up into a small ponytail as the rest was left to flow out, reaching for his shoulders. He had a sharp jawline that showed a sort of dominance intriguing me. It was as if he’d become a remarkable person on his profile. 

“Have myself a fangirl, do I?” A familiar accent uttered. I hold my head up and turn myself around to find Marceli, perched upon a higher seat behind me. His eyes were different, they were not smoky or cloudy but in between, like the skies on a rainy day. This time they didn't have a specific emotion, but you could tell there was a joy amongst them.

I felt a baffling warmth rise up to my face as I tried to think of something to say. “You’re the one that wrote your username on the paper.” I argued back, covering up the slight embarrassment he left me in.

Marceli peered at me for a moment as if he was analysing the words that I had spoken. “That means you’ve seen the drawing, right? Do you like it? It was a bit rushed but it doesn’t look too bad.” His eyes went back to the cloudy, pearl grey they were earlier, lit up with curiosity. He held a smile, revealing dimples at the corners of his lips. They displayed a sort of honesty and innocence, making me feel secure.

 “Yeah, you’re really talented. Especially with the details. How’d you do a drawing so thoroughly with limited timing? It would’ve taken me hours – not even hours, maybe days.” I spoke without hesitation. He uncovered a low chuckle in response making me somewhat sheepish.

We conversed for the entirety of the ride that had been over faster than time had passed. I watched Marceli wave at me as I stood opposite of him, with the window of the bus blocking interaction and viewed the bus driving off. 

The next day, we did the same thing. In every class we had, Marceli would borrow one of my AirPods and listen to the same music whilst drawing miniature doodles of me over the corners of his work-book pages. During the third period, we had the same class. Marceli had sat on the left of me as I tried to draw doodles of him, the way he did, in my book. I would end up crossing them out and ensure that he wouldn’t see them.

For the next twenty minutes, I was continuously crossing them out and observing my left, making sure Marceli wouldn’t catch sight of my failed attempts. I leaned back in my chair, head tilting back as I released a sigh of vex before feeling a nearby breath brushing against my ear, leaving a heated surface on my face. “Did you really expect me to not notice the doodles scribbled all over your book?” I rotate my head only a centimetre before I stop to glimpse at the hand on the seat of my chair, holding it down as the legs of the chair steady to make contact with the ground once again. I take a closer observation of the figure’s hand to comprehend the identity of the voice. Marceli.  I turn around and dimples showed off the corner of his lips, just an inch away from my own…