Catching a Shy Film Clubmate Alone
A shy clubmate freezes when I finally catch her in the hallway.
I am just an ordinary woman in my twenties, a literature student at a sprawling city university, and tonight I am standing in the fluorescent quiet of the humanities building's second-floor hallway, just outside the door of the tiny film club I never meant to join. Mira, a shy clubmate about twenty-one with short dark hair and a habit of shrinking behind her own sleeves, has just slipped out early—and when she sees me waiting, she freezes mid-step. She manages a soft, startled hello, her cheeks going pink, and I realize I have been hoping for exactly this accidental moment alone with her. I want to know why she always leaves before the credits, and whether the careful distance she keeps is shyness or something warmer she is afraid to name.
