Oreki Style

I'm curious.

And it's not because of the book I'm reading. I'm trapped in the Classics clubroom, with window light to my left, a waiting door to my right, and a plain table in front of me, surrounded by shelves and floating dust particles. I stare at unreadable words. I can't read because my mind is elsewhere, because my mind is curious. I hate that I'm curious, because I shouldn't be curious, but I am curious, and I can't stop being curious.

What have you done to me, Chitanda?

My life used to be quaint, quiet, and pleasant. Not anymore. Every day is wrapped in mystery. I'm starting to think now. I don't like to think. The reason I live a low-energy life is because I hate to think. I'd rather lie down and float—but no. I have to swim, from one end to the other, over and over, every day, weekly and monthly, for the rest of my life it seems. I swim so much that I get tired, and I start to drown. I can't breathe, I can't act, and when I think I can finally relax, Chitanda shows up, grabs my arm, and orders me, "Keep swimming!"

Ever since she woke me up out of sleep mode, I've never had the chance to shut down. It's a constant barrage of queries. I should've turned her down, but I didn't—I couldn't.

And now I'm curious, and because I'm curious, I can't stop thinking. I keep digging myself into this hole of thought and I can't get out.

After all my thinking, even though I try not to think about it, I'm forced to admit that I may have some kind of feeling for her. This feeling can be seen as "positive." You may describe it as like even. No, that's a little too strong—actually, it fits, in the same way that I like Satoshi.

But that doesn't explain why I can't say no to her.

It's because of those eyes of hers, those bright, innocent, doe eyes, like a little puppy's. But puppies don't get my heart beating like she does. Don't get excited. It's just a beat or two above normal. Maybe a little more than that, like a light percussion, and maybe beyond that. But not too often, just sometimes, and when it does, it's kind of fast. Too fast even.

Does she make me nervous? I don't have the energy to be nervous. Okay, so I'm a little nervous, but not too nervous, just enough that my cheeks get warm. Not red, only a little warm—one degree, at most. Which is one degree too many, because it makes me sweat. Not excessively, just more than usual. A couple beads, here and there, under my curly hair. I shouldn't be sweating like this, but I do, and only when she's around.

Really now.

I think too much. Before she came along, I didn't have to think. I just slept. But she won't leave me alone, even in my dreams. Yes, I dream of her. It's usually just me and her, and she's always wearing something odd, like a costume, a maid outfit, with cat ears. Strange, I know. She says things I can't hear. Her mouth moves but there's no sound. I try to speak but I have no voice. I just nod, without hearing what she has to say, because it doesn't matter what she says. Then I hear it.

"I'm curious!"

And I wake up, expecting her to be right there, but she isn't. When I dream, I think of her, and when I'm awake, I still think of her, and I can't stop thinking about her. It's not like I don't know her. She comes from a prestigious family. She's smart, refined, yet oblivious, naïve, and childish. I know this, but I don't know that, the most important thing—what she does she think of me?

What am I to her? A personal PI? A playtoy that spits out answers with a light squeeze? I should be irritated. I should be able to raise my hand and say, "No. Not anymore." But I can't. Why?

Because…

I like her.

No, wait, I—

Too late. I said it. I didn't want to say it, I didn't want to admit it, but now I've done it.

I like her.

This is not good. It means my low-energy life is in danger. I've seen what "like" has done to other people. It saps them of everything and leaves them with nothing.

When I realized this, I knew I had to stop thinking about it. I watched TV, tried to my take mind someplace else, and caught a movie—a romance, with intimate scenes and too much liking for my liking. I couldn't stop myself, from imagining myself in the hero's shoes, from imagining Chitanda in the heroine's shoes, from imagining sweet embraces and light touches between us. A delusion, a low energy yet still too fantastical delusion, and I kept imagining such things long after the movie ended.

It had to stop. So I ran, took a jog, and tried to fill my mind with street corners and sidewalks. Can you believe it? Me, going out for a jog. It's amazing, and depressing, alarming, and distressing. It didn't help. My mind wandered. The more I thought about her, the faster I ran, and the faster I ran, the more I thought about her. By the time I realized what was going on, I was dead on my feet.

I decided to do homework instead. As I stared at my worksheets, I thought about my average grades. No matter how hard I tried, I could never get the same marks as Chitanda. How does she do it?

And there it was. I lost before I even started.

I can't stop thinking about her, about how I "like" her, about how she makes my heart beat, my head sweat, my imagination run wild. How irritating—how very irritating. What does she think of me? Does she like me?

That's the question.

Does she like me?

I don't know, because I can't figure it out. It doesn't seem possible, but it's very possible, and for some reason, I want it to be possible, because I like her, because I'm curious, and because I think too damn much. I wish I just knew. I only have luck, no talent, because if I did, I'd be able to figure it out already. Instead, I'm stuck thinking about things I don't want think about, like the possibility of no possibility.

I close my book. I can't read anymore. I wasn't even reading to start with, because of all this thinking. I stand up to leave when the door opens.

Chitanda, the constant object of my thoughts and fantasies, has arrived. Will she ensnare me in another mystery with those hypnotic eyes of hers?

"Oreki!" she greets brightly. "How are you?"

I'm stuck, thinking in circles, and feeling weird things, like this tight feeling in my chest. "Tired."

"Why?" she asks worriedly.

Because I still haven't solved the biggest mystery of them all. "No reason."

"Do you want to walk home then?"

I nod.

Perhaps it's better like this. A mystery is interesting only as long as it remains unsolvable, when the possibilities are endless. Maybe she likes me, maybe she doesn't, but there's one thing I know for sure.

I like her.

And…

"I'm curious."

AN: Thanks for reading. I'm just trying out new things. Let me know what you think and drop a comment. Any thoughts are very much appreciated.