This was not love, he thinks, staring at her cigarette-stained fingertips. No, this was his sick attraction to something thrilling. Something that existed out of the choking atmosphere of the lecture room. She asks him why he’s there, and he’s tempted to reply with his thoughts, but doesn’t anyway. Instead, he says that he’s there because he’s bored. She smiles. So was she. So why don’t they do something crazy together. And there it was. That dizzying sensation, like ecstasy racing through his veins. He is only too fast to agree.
The two of them erased the world, blurring it with spinning lights and thick smoke. Like flares, they raced through the night, burning themselves into the eyes of every passerby. But this was not love. Because at the end they would leave each other just as quickly as they had drawn together. And perhaps it was this risk that made it so enchanting to him. Nevertheless, he found himself with tears in his eyes when light filtered through the crevices between skyscrapers. He doesn’t ask to meet her again, because that would ruin the trick behind the smokescreens.
No. This wasn’t love.