The return

"You look better this year." He says to me, seemingly amazed but I can't be sure because I'm not really paying attention - I'm still unpacking.

"Thanks." I chuckle, taken aback.

"No! I mean... you look happier. I just... put it in a really weird way." He splutters, reddening slightly. I swear he might be blushing but then again, he does get heated over trivial things.

"Ha. You mean "you looked like shit last year, but this year..."" I gesture speculatively, and finally look at him properly for the first time in half a year. He glances back at me and turns away, mock-disgruntled at my amusement.

Truthfully, I'm considering what he's said with a mixture of fascination and wonder. Maybe last year I was miserable. Honestly, maybe my depression was affecting the people around me more than I thought. I take some pride in keeping to myself because that's just... what I do.

I find myself staring at him again. He's not really looking at me, so I don't feel guilty. Reflecting on what's been said so far, I wonder the same about him. Does he look better this year? He certainly looks... a little different. I can't say I approve of his haircut - it's just a little too short for him, especially when he has dull copper hair on top, kinda like a halo. Tight maroon shirt, somewhat form-fitting and black jeans. Standard fare for him, really. So I'm not sure if he looks any different. But he feels different, for sure.

He looks nice. Yes, that's the word I settle on. Nice.

So why do I feel... off? The feeling I get between stolen glances at him and the other people in the room is a bit anxious.

If anything, I'm probably just... apprehensive. I more or less promised myself to not talk to him as much as possible, but at the same time, I'm relieved that we have classes together. Maybe I'm still bitter. Maybe I wish he knew.

I contemplate telling him about this, but at the same time, class starts and I have to put the idea away.