Times up =[

In any case, it went similar. I liked this girl, name was unimportant, but she was cute: Inked hair (black) that were curtains to her face, beautiful skin and just adorable dark, dark eyes, almost glossed like marbles where I could easily see myself if I ever mustered enough courage to look directly at her. At one point or another, I somehow agreed to tell her who I liked at the end of the year, it was the 6th grade, which is the last year here in Quebec before everyone goes to high-school or the Sixth grade.

I was truly and sincerely infatuated with her because at the time I couldn't form complete sentences in French, so communicating with people was very hard and tiresome for me. Talking to her not only made my first years here in Quebec bearable, but it allowed me to express myself in a way I couldn't before. I felt so liberated and happy being near her, seeing her delicate hands draw so wonderfully or her pearl teeth shine whenever I made her laugh or smile. I'll never forget it.

The days rolled by and so came the final day. I knew that she was going to ask so the day before I prepared myself. I have never revealed told anyone I liked her, let alone confess to that very person I had tripped and lost all bearings without that very person nearby.

When she asked, moments after the bell has screeched its last ring, I looked away and thinking back, I recall quite well the weather and the feeling of the whole moment. The swelling of nervousness deep inside my gut. The strong wind blowing her hair, shrouding her timidness as I tug her out into the open yard where the grass was still uncut and the wind bellowed even louder. Petals from that tree we planted (well, last year with my previous class) started to tip-toe around us, drifting with the wind. I took her hand and slipped her this precious glass heart, it was small, maybe an inch and a half in diameter with a red silk ribbon inside. I didn't have to say anything, she basically knew and instead of waiting for an answer, I simply hugged her, brushed her hair back (as her eyes started to dampen a bit) and went to grab my bus sitting impatiently by. I never did find out if she had similar feelings for me, it was unlikely as many just saw me as a funny foreign kid who couldn't speak proper french.

But for once, in that particular moment, language wasn't an issue to say what I wanted to say. Yet... I wish I stayed to hear what mattered most.