He saw her first in tangled halls,
Like a silent vow on classroom walls.
She watched him turn, page by page,
Yet kept smiling like a secret message.
He mocked her dress in ink and rhyme,
Called her a waste of precious time.
She held her breath, through stolen eyes,
Wearing metaphors like a thin disguise.
But when she took him in her possession,
Words came out like long-lost confessions.
He bled the truth of love — not just a fling,
She made her home within his suffering.
The girl he ran from, wild and free,
Became his muse, his literal destiny.
And so was his fate, once in a few —
Like a silent light, awaiting the dew.