Strange Psychics: 0.

The girl, no further acquaintance than a classmate from years ago, was someone I had recently ran into at a vintage fair.

She had always shown extreme interest in furniture — in fact, always the shelves — during the years I knew her in high school. Every time she visited someone’s house, she would scan the cupboards, bookcases, and storages. She would then critique the quality and condition of each piece. She was given the name ‘appraiser’ for the profession of her commentary, and attained a certain level of respect from her classmates.

The intensity of her gaze had left a strong imprint in my head. When I found her studying a wooden bookcase at the fair, I recognized her instantly; although it had been years since I had even thought of her for the last time. The furniture of her interest had some beautiful victorian decorations carved into each corner. Considering the details, the craftsmanship should have worth at least two months of my part-time salary.

Her apparent passion towards the bookcase had convinced me with its quality; I was becoming interested in it too. I approached the lane she stood. Resisting my urge to run, I stopped by a several furniture before the masterpiece. The glass display just beside the wooden shelve held a ceramic tea set. There I performed my patience by picking up the vintage tea cup and carefully examined its patterns wearing my most intelligent expression.

After sending multiple furtive glances towards the cupboard, I caught her eyes. Her stare froze on my face, glided away for a few seconds, and swung back in place.

“I remember you,” she mumbled.

“Wow, how come? How many years ago? Like, the last time we spoke?” I gave up in concealing my excitement. Soon I had lost interest in the vintage bookcase.

“You had a very nice bookshelf in your house.” The corners of her mouth raised into a grin. “You always wiped off the dust from her surface. I always remembered you for that.”

But she never mentioned my name. She seemed to have forgotten it. But I have forgotten hers too. While I was searching for more nostalgic memories to share with her, she glanced down at her shoes. My head seemed to have released all of the thoughts I had prepared. Tranquility stretched between us.

“I have something to confess.” Her strong voice broke the silence. Since her voice was generally soft until then, I was slightly unsettled by her sudden projection. “Can I talk to you personally, maybe even now?”

So we headed to the closest cafe, which was where I worked part time.

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