Ella always wakes up half an hour before she needs to, and unlike most people, finds it alright to get up from the comfort of the sheets and to lay her bare feet on the cold tile floor. She doesn’t mind it at all, the cold. Probably because, she reasons, she is a cold person herself. She does not hug people, she does not write affectionate letters, she does not bawl over little things. Ella is not the kind of person who cared about the goings and doings of others; she reasons that, if people don’t want her involved, then it is completely out of her business.

It is, however, a completely different story when it comes to a particular person named Thomas Quency.


If one were to look at Ella at any given hour during, say, History period, she would not be listening. She would be going over her notes, her eyes looking intently at her own handwriting, her thoughts seemingly on the pages. She is, however, thinking about things completely unrelated to Napoleon’s fall at Waterloo. What is she doing now? She has brought out her wallet, something which is beaten up and brown, and she opens it. She does this discreetly so as not to take any attention upon herself. Ella is staring at something inside her wallet, and a few seconds later she pulls something out with her delicate white hands. It’s a photo. She holds it very lightly, but her green eyes are fully concentrated.

The teacher notices her lack of attention and asks her a question. Ella answers it in a complete sentence, perfectly. The teacher looks at her suspiciously, but is satisfied.

Ella is still looking at the photo, but she has brought it beneath the table, on her lap.

The photo, as may have been guessed, is of a boy.

His name was Thomas and Ella is completely and utterly obsessed with him, and this obsession is the main reason she often becomes depressed, to the point that she feels like her heart would cave in and she would die right in that second. Ella not only feels depressed, but is also anxious. She is anxious of how he is doing, how he is getting a long, whether or not he was trampled over by the throngs of people attending the morning commute. If anyone ever knew how Ella was feeling, they would all agree that the sprightly little teenager was slightly insane over this boy. They would then wonder who this boy could be. They would conclude that, most likely, this Thomas boy would be a first crush.

And if Thomas were to enter that classroom at that moment, to disrupt the teacher and distract the students, how Ella would become affectionate. She wouldn’t be cold at all. She would be rosy, and warm, and she would give Thomas such a huge hug, even if she didn’t quite reach his shoulders. She would want to know how he was, how he’s doing, what parties he’s been attending. She would make it her business to know. She would talk so much, probably most of the time. How she would be so happy, so happy that just thinking about it made her feel like her heart would cave in.

But Thomas wasn’t around. He was never around anymore anyways, anywhere. Ella knew that and often cut off her imaginations short because they depressed her so much.

The class ends and people walk out the classroom. The sunlight is nearly horizontal, and it spills into the large windows. The day is over. Ella doesn’t smile, and as she goes out into the campus to find a spot among the chairs. She doesn’t greet people. She doesn’t speak unless spoken to; it is sometimes a surprise to her why she had so many friends. It really is strange, Ella thinks.