“So, are you already tired of just watching?” I remain silent, formulating something to avoid any probable trouble. Provoking her is the last thing I have on my mind right now; trying anything would only result in more mishaps.

“Sorry about that.” I figure that in this sort of situation, an “excuse me” is better than an excuse. That’s why after saying that, I silently stand there, waiting for her to say something; for something to happen; a development.

Anything.

I wait for her to permit something to happen.

She opens her book and hides behind it, to omit me from her sight.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Kind of.

Almost.

That’s not it at all.

“So, what’s your name?” I recreate the annihilated conversation that faded slowly after that awkward exchange of words.

“My name is Atilla Nadha, and my boyfriend’s name is Robbie. He plays basketball. Is there anything else you want to know about me? Or maybe something I need to inform him of.”

No. I prefer to know nothing; especially about the boyfriend. Despite that, I need to find a way to keep this going, so I can figure things out.

Wait.

“I didn’t ask for your boyfriend’s name.” Anyway, Robbie doesn’t even sound like a person who plays basketball. “Well, Atilla,” I sweet-talk her with the softest voice, paired up with my most welcoming smile. “I haven’t seen you around much. So I was interested when I saw you walking around the halls like a lonely ghost.”

Atilla cocks her head up and peeks at me from the safety of the book she was holding in front of her face, and her eyes widen in disgust and repulse.

And then I remember what I look like with a welcoming smile. I look like a hideous gremlin, thirsting after his latest prey; So I immediately switch to the expression I always wear on my face. Nothing.

“I don’t care much for coming here,” She replies, despite being freaked out by me. “But there’s a minimum amount of time you have to spend in this place if you want to pass the semester, and unfortunately, I can’t help but attend. So, I’m here to just be here; to fill in the blank.”

“Well, that’s certainly odd. I didn’t know the rules here were this lax, and the question of why despite not taking part in many events I'm still left untouched has been something I've been wondering as well.” 

The slightly vexed Atilla raises an eyebrow but still keeps her eyes on the open page. The book she’s holding is a hardcover that can fool anyone into thinking that she’s merely doing some casual light-reading, and not giving you the silent treatment.

“How ARE we left untouched?” I ask.

“I don’t know about you, but I believe the rules to everything is simple, once you know two things; number one being the loopholes, and number two being the people who enforce the rules; in other words the authorities. Aside from that, I’m basically perfect, that’s another reason.” She boasts.

“And I’m basically one of the imperfects." I state. "Is that why I'm left untouched?"

"I wonder. But do keep in mind that the opposite of perfect is not imperfect. The opposite of perfect is worthless. If you're left untouched despite not being perfect, then you have no value. In other words, you simply don't matter."

"Don't you think that's kinda harsh?" Genuinely hurt by what she said, I hide my anger, and stand behind the professor's stand, facing the countless rows of seats that were all almost empty, illuminated by the sun that had recently penetrated the autumn clouds.

"Did I mention that I have a boyfriend?” She repeats.

“That you did. You said he plays baseball.”

“Precisely.”

“What happens if your boyfriend is to participate in a baseball game on one of those days you have to attend? Wouldn't he want you around to watch his match?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“You say that, but you have already fallen down in the lava, and your bridge is already broken"

"Huh?"

"Didn’t you say your boyfriend played BASKETBALL?” My question finally gets a reaction out of her, and her face, displaying her bitter attitude, shows slight hints of panic. She almost drops the book on the table, silently cursing her foolish mistake. Despite getting herself together quickly, it was already too late for her to make excuses.

“Anyway,” I continue. “Why would an athletic guy even look at a girl who barely goes out, and wears an unattractive hoodie?”

The girl remains stoned.

I think I just broke something in her.

“Tha… That’s because we’ve known each other since middle school?”

“So your imaginary boyfriend…”

“Watch your mouth, or I’ll call him right now.”

“Then be my guest; by all means; please call him right now.” 

“If I call him here, he’ll beat you up; he’s dramatically over-protective.” 

Overprotective? A guy? This sounds like a girly fantasy of a person who enjoys her Alpha male smut a bit too much. “I would love to get beaten up by a big, buff boy like that.”

The girl almost jumps out of her seat, in shock. This time, she drops the book on the table.

“You’re disgusting.” Exclaims Atilla, eyes widened in shock.

“Of course I am. You’re just realizing that?”

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and lets out a sigh of defeat. After that, the silence sucks the room in, and Atilla gradually drowns herself in her book once more, ignoring my existence the way she did before. I catch a glimpse at the clock on the wall. I only have another twelve minutes to wrap things up with her before this place gets crowded.

“So your name is Atilla?” I restart.

She sighs, hesitates, and forces back a reply, her eyes still locked elsewhere. “Atilla Nada.” She finally lets go of the book and closes it.

Where’s that name even from?

“That’s a pretty name,” I reply awkwardly, which she ignores. She doesn’t care for my presence at all; in fact, it looks like she lost her own presence a long time ago. She’s here, but not really. She’s lost elsewhere.

An existence that merely exists until it no longer does.

There are many people I've seen with a similar presence.

A similar nonexistence.

“I know it’s pretty; I love my name.” She whispers back, although I can hear it like a deranged scream.

What a loud whisper.

This conversation is going nowhere, but I need to start something up at the very least.

“Oh, by the way; are you alright? Are you cold?”

Manipulation.

Leading questions.

A little something I learned from Sonny, who is an absolute bastard.

“Not really; why do you ask?”

“Then why are you still wearing your hoodie?”

Bull’s eye. Her face twitches once more, and her eyes come back from wherever they were, just to return there again, once they acknowledge my words; Atilla goes back to normal as if there was nothing. Although, if you care enough to look for them, the hints and traces were on her face, and the sudden tremble in her voice, as she desperately tries to think of a sensible explanation.

She’s definitely hiding scars. The note we found hinted at family issues and suicide as well.

How do I deal with this?

“Hey, Atilla?” I call out to her before she recovers from the previous question, and step outside of the stand, letting her know that I’m leaving her to her own devices.

“If I were you, I’d wear something less thick and wooly; if you sweat, it’s gonna hurt.” I decided to at least address the problem before the others arrive. The best course of action in this scenario is to let her know that I’m aware of what’s going on, and then, the best thing to do is to leave her be, and let her catch a break ultimately leading to her questioning why and how I knew.

A little trick I learned from Sonny being an absolute bastard.

“If it’s that obvious, then I might as well strip naked,” Atilla concludes, staring down at her desk, tapping her fingers on the cover of her book repeatedly.

“I guess, but then everyone will judge you for being a lunatic, or an exhibitionist.”

“I’ve been told many times that the only thing you can do to prevent people from judging you is to have them judge you until infinity.”

“I wish I could understand that,” I mumble.

“It’s easy if you do the math.” 

“Exactly; but I don’t think I CAN do the math, anyway.” Says the guy standing behind the professor's stand.

“Well,” she begins. “It’s about how idiotically connected zero and infinity are sometimes.” She elaborates. I know I am supposed to have a better understanding of what she’s describing, but I’m simply dumb enough to not.

How on earth is zero connected to infinity?

“It’s like how when you have nothing, you will basically have everything; because having nothing will make you not want everything. So we are constantly leaping between Nothingness and Everythingness.”

Everythingness?

Is that even a word? At this moment, if anyone asks me this question, the answer would be obvious. Nothingness is a word, but by no means does it mean that it deserves such honor. Nothingness, at its core, doesn’t exist. Because it’s nothing. So if the word Nothingness exists for something that doesn't exist, then the opposite of that concept that deserves more of an existence should also exist. So, Everythingness has the right to exist as a word as well, and who am I to strip something from its value?

That said, I can’t really understand where my conversation with Atilla is going. I can’t understand a word coming out of her mouth; I don’t think even she has an inkling of what she’s talking about.

Maybe she really has gone lunatic.

“Well, it’s not like I found out on purpose.” I change the subject, for the sake of my own mind. “It’s just something you’d notice when you look for it.” After hearing what I said, Atilla stays silent for a moment, staring at her book, and then opens it again to a random page. This time, the book stays on the table, and she doesn't hide her face from me.

“When you look for what, exactly?” She asks.

“I was seeking a troubled soul.”

“What are you? A fairy?” 

“Perhaps. I was looking for a person, facing so many troubles, and I just stumbled upon you accidentally. So, don’t treat this as some kind of meet-cute or fated encounter or anything of that sort. I just happened to notice you when I found you.”

"What makes you think I can't treat this as a meet-cute? I barely show up and you happened to find me the exact day I did. I think this moment is slightly magical. Wouldn't you say so as well?"

If only she knew what type of magical things I was racking my brain to understand.

“Well," Atilla changes the subject once my silence continues. "What makes you think I’m that troubled soul you’re seeking, fairy godmother?”

“Well, if you feel like I’m in the wrong, you can disprove it all by taking off your hoodie; how do you feel about your mother?”

“No; I don't have mommy issues;” she protests with a bitter tone. “Why do all of you immediately put the blame on the mom?”

This is it.

The opening I’ve been waiting for.

“So, it’s your father, then.”

She doesn’t reply and merely goes back to silently watch the book she once again holds in her right hand, hiding her face behind it; and then, her next words come out as cold as ice, even tho she was sitting in the hottest part of the room.

“Would you please leave right now?”

It’s over.

I don’t have the right to talk anymore, and she has the right to remain silent.

“Alright, I understand. Well, then I’ll talk to you later.” I stroll away; people are already starting to come in, and my twelve minutes are over. I don't attend the same lecture, I wouldn't be able to stay with her in the same room much longer; so with that in mind, I stroll away.