She stares at him, deep dark eyes boring into his own. What is he thinking about? she wonders to herself. He acknowledges her soft gaze with a smile, then lowers his to the book in his hands. The title? Second Treatise on Government.
Of course. How was it that she always loved the political boys best? They were her best friends, her lovers, her brothers from other mothers (and fathers, but it doesn't rhyme). Maybe it was the debates they had, for she certainly held views of her own. Maybe it was their intelligence, their passion, the fire that would leap into their eyes and their voices as they expressed anger over an unjust policy or excitement about the upcoming elections. Maybe it was their sense of duty, their love of country, their desire to change things for the better. Maybe it was their humor, for they actually understood all the cartoons in the newspapers, the jokes made by British comedians. Or maybe it was just because they were hot. After all, a good portion of them would fit the definition of a "looker."
But this one was different. Instead of the raging fires of activism, his soul possessed a calm, still river of inner peace. While he cared about people and issues, it wasn't his way to start a war or mess with politics too much. He loved politics as she did, but from more of an intellectual sense. He was more relational than anything else. Rather than try to make big changes, he wanted to just be there for people, to help them realize that someone cared. He was more of an artist than a politician anyway, always singing, playing music, drawing pictures and designs with a skill level that surpassed mere doodling. He was also spiritual, grounded in the sense that he was connected greater to something other than himself. He was kind, funny in his own way, and possessed an endearing sense of awkwardness, what with his embarrassment at having accidentally brushed her leg with his own and his over-the-top way of making her laugh.
Her cell alarm rings. Time for class. She gets up to leave, he with her. Though they must part at the door, he passes her something. A piece of paper. Loose leaf with black ink, simple print, yet straightforward. Only four words:
En rue Saint Divine
She smiles. Song lyrics. The keys to her heart. She looks up to thank him but he has already vanished.