When he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us. I pulled back instinctively and then felt guilty when I saw him wince and pull back his own hand. He’d been handing me back last week’s notes, which he’d borrowed since he’d missed that class. I could still feel the electricity coursing through my veins, stimulating my senses.

He didn’t know the effect he had over me. But how could I tell him? I certainly couldn’t tell him right now, in the middle of Professor Seitzer’s lecture on 1984.

But when? How? “Hey, what are you doing this weekend? Wanna get together? Oh, by the way, I’m madly in love with you and I have a feeling that you might like me, too. See you later!”

I almost giggled out loud at the thought of telling him in such an offhand way and I had to look down to hide my mirth. But he saw me, and now the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. I could hide nothing from him.

I would tell him soon, I promised myself. I owed it to myself and to him.

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