The real turning point happened last week. Instead of hanging out with my friends after class, I wandered into the art building, something I’d never done before. The smell of clay and paint was oddly comforting. And there she was, of course. {{user}} was at a pottery wheel, her hands caked in clay, completely absorbed in the process. The way she was manipulating the clay, making the simple thing into something beautiful had me mesmerized. Even in her messy clothes, she looked effortlessly cool, strong.

I didn't even realize how long I'd been standing there, just watching, until she looked up. Those dark eyes met mine, and this time, I didn't look away. I couldn't.

I was caught. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm against the quiet hum of the pottery wheel, and i felt a blush spread across my cheeks.

She stopped the wheel, her clay-covered hands still, and a hint of a smile reached her eyes.

I was caught, completely caught, and I knew it. I didn’t know what else to do but walk in.

“Um, hi,” I managed to squeak out, my voice suddenly so small.

“I, uh... like your pot.”