Thou shalt stare…apparently

I was arranging hymn books when I noticed him.

Noticed is a polite word.

I stared.

Just for a second.

Maybe two.

Long enough for him to look in my direction and catch me doing it.

I immediately looked down at the book in my hands, suddenly very interested in whether Psalm 23 was printed correctly.

It wasn’t.

But I read it anyway.

“Nanjala.”

I looked up.

My friend was standing there with the expression of someone who had just witnessed a crime.

“What?”

“You were staring.”

“I was not.”

“You nearly memorised that man’s face.”

“I was looking at the entrance.”

“He is the entrance?”

I bit back a laugh.

“Please leave me alone.”

She walked away shaking her head, and I went back to arranging the books, determined to behave like nothing had happened.

Which would have been easier if the stranger hadn’t been standing three rows away.

And if I hadn’t kept accidentally looking at him.

He was tall, clean-cut, and dressed simply enough to make me wonder whether he always looked that good or whether Sunday had something to do with it.

I told myself I wasn’t interested.

Then he smiled at me.

That was unfortunate.

Very unfortunate.

Because I smiled back.

A small one.

A respectable one.

The kind of smile that could still pass inspection.

At least, I hoped.

I spent the rest of the morning trying to concentrate.

During the service, I sang.

I listened.

I nodded at the right moments.

I even managed to look appropriately serious when everyone else did.

But every now and then, my eyes betrayed me.

And every time they did, his were already on me.

By the time the service ended, I had convinced myself it was nothing.

A harmless little attraction.

A face I would probably forget by Tuesday.

Then, while everyone was gathering outside for the church event, one of the women organising everything called me.

“Nanjala, please take this to him.”

She handed me a small box.

I followed her finger.

Him.

Of course.

I stared at the box.

Then at him.

Then back at the box.

There are moments when life gives you a perfectly reasonable opportunity to walk directly into trouble.

This was mine.

I walked over.

“Hi.”

He turned toward me.

And smiled.

Again.

“Hi.”

“I was told to give you this.”

He took the box from me.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I turned to leave.

“Nanjala?”

I stopped.

He knew my name.

“Yes?”

“I’ve seen you around.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Have you?”

He smiled.

“Yeah.”

There was something about the way he said it that made me suddenly aware of myself.

My dress.

My hair.

My hands.

Everything.

I gave him a polite smile.

“Okay.”

Then I walked away before my face could confess anything my mouth wasn’t prepared to.

My friend was waiting for me.

She looked at him.

Then at me.

Then back at him.

“Oh, you’re finished.”

“Finished with what?”

“Nothing.”

“Exactly.”

She laughed.

I rolled my eyes and joined the others.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about one thing.

He’d said he’d seen me around.

Which meant this wasn’t the first time he’d noticed me.

And apparently…

I wasn’t the only one staring.

I just didn’t know yet how much trouble that little discovery was going to cause me.

Because before I left that evening, he found me again.

And this time, he didn’t ask me to carry a box.

He asked for my number.