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The rain grew in intensity during that brief pause in time and as if it all happened at once. She turned, asked if I were walking with her and I shook my head. In her expression I read a dozen thoughts and in her arms I felt a rush of warmth. Yet as intimate the moment, she pulled out first and the urge to hold her grew. I felt desperate as my hands remained extended as if I were reaching out for something dear to me.

He twirled the pen across his fingers, letting it fall only to try again. He stared absently ahead whilst the teacher droned on. Only an hour had passed and yet Caleb could not muster the energy to listen. All sense of purpose was directed into trying to twirl the pen around his stubby fingers. The class of twenty was divided evenly between those who knew they couldn't score higher than a B and those who naturally scored an A. Ultimately, no one was paying attention to the monotone teacher who read passionately from Fitzgerald's master work: The Great Gatsby. 

However great a moral or writing appeal, to the class of caffeine fuelled upperclassmen  it was just another book read by another teacher to be written on in yet, another exam paper that didn't count towards anything but contributing to another stolen year in another education facility. 

Caleb however, did not follow the same stereotype his classmen were condemned with. He'd already read the book over the summer break when having nothing to do. He'd been fascinated at the concepts of pleasures verses morality. The idea that a dream can be crushed with a rapid change in personal desires. Caleb thought himself to be those of prestige moral backgrounds. However in such a state, in such a classroom he found following the social norms, whether it be tossing paper planes or deciding on what to eat for lunch was for more practical than showing even a slight interest to what is on the whiteboard.

And with that ironic thought in mind he turned his attention to a scuffle that had broken out in the courtyard of the school. The courtyard housed many students during breaks. To far end, where a path would lead to soccer fields, was a small garden that many girls would converse at whilst secretly watching boys play soccer. It was also where Caleb's current class was situated some couple of stories up. Nearing the entrance of the courtyard where administration offices were, was where a third party cafe had been given rights to set up shop. Between the two ends was a paved mind field of social groups acting unaware of each other until they were forced to sit in close quarters in class - a game many teachers had fun abusing.

Circling the entirety of the courtyard are classrooms that rose three stories high. Due to the nature of the circle inspired shape of the school, it proved difficult to find a quiet spot to avoid being spotted by others - many smokers had been forced to leave the school entirely which meant formulating a good enough excuse to leave the grounds via the admin offices. 

Caleb continued to observe the scuffle. He began to think of explanations as to why they were fighting; clash of ego's, same love interest? He couldn't put on a name of the attacker, but he quickly realized the other person was Roy.

Caleb's eyes narrowed as Roy was pushed over a grouping of tables in the centre of the yard. The two were good friends but didn't share any classes. Roy protected his face with his elbows as the attacker tried for an opening. Caleb looked to the circling windows. No one had seen the events below, or they didn't care. The teacher continued to talk and only faintly could Caleb hear their voices from below. The door to the classroom had a clear route of passage but standing would draw attention to himself.

Looking back at Roy, he felt hopeless watching a friend in such a state. Looking to the door, and back to Roy he cursed his indecisiveness, or rather lack of duty towards helping a friend. Students in the other classrooms continued without the sheer thought that something bad was happening. Roy's pleads for help grew louder, and the pounding in Caleb's chest tightened.

The clear reflection of the street lights paint a path for you to follow. Not a single car travels the early morning roads; the sun barely awake. Orange hues peak over distant mountains and a simmer of purple mixes into the sky. Intake a breath and for a moment, the cold sensations leave you, then briskly return. 

The clock upon the highest point of the town hall struck midday and she walked down the slight slope towards the tram stop. Maybe I stopped her to ask for her number, then suggested for a drink or two. Perhaps she said yes, to both, or maybe not at all. A few of the class members could join as a gathering for first years, share drinks and settle into a warm rapport with one another. Or, we'd just continue to talk until we found ourselves at a fork in the road, and parted our separate ways after exchanging numbers and facebook invites; spending twenty cents but moments later to continue our conversation.

Perhaps, none of that happened and I continued to wonder what might have happened. Brooding most days over what possibility it was that if I'd asked for her number, and whether it increased or declined upon each passing day that I didn't ask, factoring in whether or not I spoke to her that day, and what she spoke of, or not at all.

"I'm not sure on where all this is coming from," She stared in a slight daze of shock and confusion. 

The rain continued to steadily fall, more so sleet than anything. Still, the rain did little to distract our gazes upon each other. Dark spots began to form in her clothing and the longer we stood upon the open, the chillier the sharp winds became. 

"You're the fire. The bright flare traversing through the dark corridors of high school." I must've looked pitiful or plain stupid standing about the hard rain, standing several metres apart from her. 

The carriage doors beeped and closed abruptly; to the satisfaction of the remaining passengers seeking refuge from the winter rains. Seconds later, the train slowly shuffled into a steady acceleration, away from the station platform and the two remaining people standing oblivious to the rest of the world.

"Don't say you love me," She finally said. Her voice was uncertain, and I doubt she regretted saying those words. I knew she'd never think of me ever more than the friend a year below her. Occasionally she'd help me with personal issues and edit an essay. She was just my upperclassman.

"I wish I could, but the feelings no longer fester within me." My cruel words opposed my true motives to find closure.

"You say that as if it were an evil thing to show affection for someone." 

I stepped closer to her and took out the umbrella from my bag. The small canopy fared useless to shelter our now soaking clothes; with a small thrust I entrusted the umbrella into her cold hands.

"I say that as if it were something that caused me great pain."

She looked at me, not knowing of what I intended of saying next, yet the uncertainness in my voice scared me more than I did for her. 

"You were the fire burning deep within my soul. My blood would boil in such a way, at such a state that I would fluster, and then ease into a calm, yet embarrassing conversation. The words you helped me so effortlessly inscribe became the very foundation at the bottom of the throat." I found these words flutter, smiling, I said "I know we'll never see each other again after this day; our only interaction being through high resolution photos, touching only for an instance as we both type with the keyboard; even still being kilometres apart. We'll continue to grow apart, but for what it matters, whether now or before, no...That’s not the answer."

"You are a writer? Speaking in long monologues, using colourful language you'd never really use in conversation because you've a single imperfection; you cannot talk without losing your tongue. You cannot tell the truth because the longer you hold back information, the more drama you can create; you're able to hold onto friends for a bit longer. You create a lie, a fabrication that everything will be okay and at the end of my closing speech, I'll be forgotten forever. But I'll never be forgotten, and that's what scares you." 

"Do you ever think back to when... we were both at high school?" 

My words came in a mix of mispronunciation and stutter. I paused mid sentence to ensure the rest of my sentence made sense. She stopped bouncing from shoulder to shoulder of the trains commuters. 

She smiled like she did in her last year of school. She shrugged and didn't answer. "Uni's fun, and I'm studying something I actually like and not just to get a good ATAR score, you know?" She added.

I did that half hearted shrug in compliance I often did and stared out the window. She asked me too, if I had ever thought of high school and what I'd left behind to begin TAFE. She asked me with a hint of sincerity. I didn't answer, knowing that I'd reveal too much of myself and I felt we were just old friends who talked only when confined to enclosed areas where we had no other choice but to. She asked me another question.

"I always remember you as the undisclosed girl; never revealing herself because if she did then she'd be afraid that she would burn out...or something like that, I guess." I might have given a bad answer, "And I remember myself as someone burning up, I think that's why we were friends. The water and fire." I quickly added, still staring out the window. I felt like I was reading out lines, they were so fake.

"Argh, you're such a writer aren't you?" Her mannerisms flared; the smile that created fake dimples because that's what made her cute, the slight decline of the head as if she tried to break through the air before walking. Her knees dropped and she squeezed through the stiff crowd towards me where she stretched her body vertically as if to match my height. Her scalp brushed my nose, and I breathed hard. She hadn't changed at all.

The rain outside poured through the opening doors. Her hand did little to shield her hair from the near hail rain. I stepped outside to let others out and she turned one last time to hold her hand up to salute; not letting go of her bag for it would ruin on the wet ground.

"I lied!" It probably was going against my nature, but for what it mattered, I could have told the truth to her last question. I didn't need to know when I would see her next because it was preordained that it would be a longer time than before till we saw each other. No matter how small a world we live in, it would seem that the people we wish to see the most never appeared around the corner, at the train platform or at that party everybody went to. I'd see her only in photos and status updates. Watching her vicariously and liking a post just to feel connected, and even if I could image her with my eyes closed, a few inches from the screen we'd still be dozens of kilometres apart, separated by strings of data and binary where our true intentions were masked by superficial emoticons and singular word sentences.

Rain pelted against the steaming windows of the train carriage. Swaying ominously with the uneven rail work beneath. She leaned against the other wall of the doorway and yet in this overcrowded carriage I could feel her every breath as she rambled about how her studies at University were beyond her. I smiled at her smile and she'd look about, then refocus on talking about how her timetable was near perfect yet, that one imperfection she said, was "like the scratch atop the roof of your mouth" and I couldn't help but think of her lips.

She asked me a few questions and my answers held back like the foreboding of the carriage tempting to jerk forward with every dip in the tracks.

"So, why are you studying at RMIT now? I bet it would have been hard to leave your friends back there, hey." She seemed closer now. "I've a better chance of getting into a course here once I finish TAFE, then at high school, plus the fee's are cheap." I forced a little laugh.

I'd always felt awkward when explaining why I'd left high school, but she was understanding and the laugh wasn't needed. She understood far better than most would. So I assumed.

We continued to talk just for the sake of conversing. Her attention slowly diverted elsewhere and the rain struck the carriage like bullets upon sheet metal. She suddenly told me her station was arriving and I felt a sudden gloom take over. Our rare meeting upon the platform wasn't exciting to me, however as always when meeting with an ill parted friend whose existence and meaning had vanished like salt upon ice. Where nothing is left but the memory of how something used to be there. I felt an urge to at least redefine where we stood in relation to how we perceived each other; a friend, an old friend or simple strangers in changing times.

The train swayed back and fourth. Her dark hair swayed and she bounced off peoples arms childishly.

Waves of energy fluster through your heart like the beat of a drum, the bass drop in every kick.

You cannot breathe and every count revives your heart for just a moment till your gasping for another

Unsheathe your blade and cut away the ropes tying me down. Tell me everything will be okay. Use your words to repel my hesitation, and your smile to reanimate mine. Bathing myself in the sun, opens a rare insight to how careless life can be, with a simplicity that could be thought of mere coincidence, that causes everything to feel like a dream.