Dear Diary,

I met someone. Last Tuesday. Someone who seems ready to talk away with little encouragement from me, someone who laughs a lot, finds weird things in names, rhythms in the way we walk, the way we live. And I sat there, looking out the window, thinking: "it can't be real, he can't be true".

Why do men still have this power on me, dear diary?! After all I have been through!

He said he's known me for more than a year now. Has looked forward to seeing me every morning on his way to the office, wondering what sort of a person I am, at the way I walk, at the way I kept to myself. He's even tried giving me a ride one morning, and has to take two old ladies to the hospital, face burning with shame, when I turned my head away from him, uninterested.

When he dropped me at the door, he asked if I wanted him to wait for me every morning at the same spot so that he can bring me to the office or maybe take me home in the evenings in which I've got classes [Thursday and Friday].

And, dear diary, I told him not to bother, that he can bring me to the office if we come across each other, to be more careful with his eyes and good luck with his writing.

I haven't met him since.

And I'm confused. What could be the meaning of all this? Have I done something wrong? Has he found me gross, somehow? Will I never see him again?! Never?!