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I’LL NEVER LEAVE YOU… EVER(Part 1)
The first time I ever saw him was in the library on campus. He was sitting alone at one of the empty tables scattered around the library. I noticed him because the table he was sitting at was isolated by itself, tucked away in an obscure end of the Philosophy section. It stuck out like a sore thumb.
He did not seem to be studying or doing schoolwork, like so many of the students who throng the library do; instead, he was merely bent over a single thin book he appeared to be reading. I was walking briskly towards his table, and all of a sudden, as if he knew I was heading towards him, he sat up and turned around to look into my face.
I could see the book he held in his hands; it was Socratic Dialogues. I took him to be a Philosophy major. Definitely, you would never see any student on campus reading a book like that.
I intended to walk right past his table to head for the Sociology section. I was not too bothered by this seemingly-intellectual loner; I was struggling with a bag weighed down with my books and laptop, papers were threatening to slip out of the file I held, my water bottle was precariously balanced under my arm, and I was thinking frantically of the Sociology essay due two days later. Yet as I passed him, something made me look up at him.
He was staring straight at me. The intensity of his gaze threw me. He was looking at me so hard, so intensely, it was almost as if he knew me and was trying very hard to place me in his mind.
He wasn’t particularly good-looking, nor was he very striking. Yet somehow, looking at this stranger in the middle of the silent library, I felt somehow soothed. I felt peaceful, looking at him, and with him looking at me like that. Then all of a sudden, the most peculiar feeling of déjà vu came over me. I slowed my steps, and actually stopped, right next to him.
I felt like I knew him. Like I’d seen him somewhere, someplace before. But the feeling I got was that I had not only seen him before, I knew him too. Very well, in fact. Yet I was very sure I’d never met this stranger before, not even a passing glimpse around campus.
Then he smiled at me, and that smile seemed to break the spell. I looked away immediately, my heart pounding, my mind flustered. Without looking back, I practically ran to the Sociology section.
But that whole day I was unable to get him out of my mind. Who was that man? Why did I feel so… so strange just looking at him?
The second time I met him was late at night one week later. I had gone to the supermarket a 10-minute bus ride away from campus to get groceries and snacks, despite a threateningly dark sky and a chilly wind. Struggling to balance my numerous plastic bags, I prepared for the long walk back to my dormitory. But I was barely halfway there when I felt the first drops of rain on my face. Thunder rolled ominously overhead. I groaned inwardly as the storm that had been threatening all day finally let loose over the university.
As I ran to the nearest bus stop, I could see, through the curtain of rain blinding me, that there was a person there. “Good,” I thought with satisfaction. “That person’s probably stuck in the rain like me. At least I won’t have to face this storm all alone on this deserted, dark campus.”
I reached the bus stop, set my groceries down with a groan, and shook some water out of my hair while rubbing my face with my hands. The wind blowing against my wet skin made me shiver. Hoping to borrow some tissue, I turned to my bus stop companion with a smile and asked, “Excuse me, do you have…”
My voice trailed off as I saw the person clearly for the first time. It was him.
Again, that strange feeling of peace stole over me. I was all alone with this complete stranger, in a dark, quiet place. Yet I felt no fear. I felt safe with him. As if I knew he would protect me, watch over me, no matter what. I knew it as surely as if he had really protected me before, in another place, another time.
He was looking at me like before, an intense, intimate gaze. He stood up slowly and held out his hand towards me. But I could not take my eyes off his face.
“I actually have an umbrella,” he said in a deep, low voice that warmed me down to my bones. Again, I felt that feeling of déjà vu; that I’d known him before, heard that voice before.
“Are you going to your dormitory? I can share my umbrella with you. Here, let me help you with your stuff,” he said in that rich, soothing voice.
I could only nod as he swept past me and gathered all my grocery bags effortlessly with one hand. Then he shook open his umbrella, swung it over both our heads and gently urged me forward into the pouring rain.
We never spoke a single word throughout that slow walk. The rain lashed us mercilessly from all sides and obscured our vision. Once, I looked over at him and saw him being buffeted by the rain, since he was tilting the umbrella in such a way that I was mostly sheltered and he bore the full brunt of the downpour. Wordlessly, I reached up to take the umbrella from him, so I could shelter him more and he could hold my groceries easier.
He smiled at me and immediately put one arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer to him so the both of us were squeezed closer under the umbrella. Surprisingly, I did not mind. Under normal circumstances, I would never have let a complete stranger touch me. But this man… I knew him. Somehow.
It was strangely cold as he held me. His arm felt cold against me. But I reasoned the poor chap was probably cold too, soaked in rain and facing the wind like I was.
I lost all track of time as we walked. It was as if we were in our own private cocoon, from which we would never come out. So it came as a little bit of a shock to me when I suddenly realized I was standing in a warm, dry, place, there were lights, the sound of the storm had abated somewhat, and there was no more rain blocking my vision. I blinked dazedly, and looked up, to see myself standing in front of my dormitory door, in the middle of my hall. The corridor was deserted. Apparently, all my hallmates were either asleep, or trapped in the rain elsewhere.
I looked up at him and was struck by how tall he was. “Thank you so much,” I whispered.
“Don’t mention it,” he gave me that sweet, melancholy smile of his, and then he was gone.
It was not until I was safely in bed, having taken a hot shower and drunk a glass of hot chocolate that I remembered something: I had not told him which hall I stayed in, or my room number. Yet he had brought me directly there. But before I could dwell on it further, I fell asleep.