Unfinished. Unwritten.

I was seventeen when I met him. I recall a few unexpected but pleasant games of one-on-one basketball that seemed like the perfect opportunity to bump into the other. But still, I paid him little attention. My friend was interested though so I encouraged her strongly, to no avail.

Soon he started calling. Information calls. Did I know what was happening when, kind of calls.

Then he started taking me places. Like coffee shops and walks on the green. Sometimes he would hold my hand, but rarely. I thought him to be quite funny and boyish in a rugged sort of way.

He had this red cable knit sweater that was a favorite of mine. And sometimes, in the evening when we were out with friends, he'd offer it for me to wear. I loved the way it smelled.

A few months later he kissed me. And I decided to stop dating other boys, even though he never asked me to.