Her hair was a faded sort of blonde--you could see where the brunette roots were starting to show. The roots were darker than most people who switched from brunette to blonde overnight; heavier, a deep brown so dark it was almost black. Almost, but not quite.

Her eyes were hazel. They were very clearly hazel but erred on the side of green rather than brown. The brown circled the rim and bled through the rest of the iris in rays, like sunshine breaking through a cloud. But the inner part, the deep part of the iris that surrounded the barely dilated pupil, was a glowing, iridescent green. The green was the part that stopped you—the green was the part that made you feel as though she were staring into your soul and grabbing every part of your subconscious in her lithe, delicate fingers.

Those fingers, they were smaller than the average person's. Not in length—in length they were just right, a bit on the longer side, making their thinness even more apparent. They were so thin that when her little sister asked to try on one of the hundreds of rings she owned—one hundred and sixty-five, to be exact—she could hardly fit on her pinky finger the ring that sailed easily onto the older girl's thumb.

She was taller than average. 5'7" was what she told people, but in actuality, she knew she was only 5'6" and three-quarters. But she liked being tall. She liked being the tallest in a friend group, but the shortest in a relationship. When she thought about it, she realized that she didn't have any friends who were taller than her except for one...and the taller one was her least favorite of them all.

In a relationship though, she liked to be smaller. The little spoon, the girl who needed protection from the big bad world. She liked to be the one who was protected. She liked to be the one who could look up at her partner and feel safe. Because in every other aspect of her life, she was the one who provided the safekeeping. The one who protected her friends and family from those intent on causing them harm. She had fond memories of almost bringing a young man to tears after he hurt the feelings of her younger sister. She remembered cutting off those who had wronged her closest friends.

So just once, she wanted to be protected. She needed to be protected. Because going through life always being the protector, it meant that no one checked in on you. It meant that everyone assumed you were fine, and everyone assumed you could take care of yourself.

She could take care of herself. She had done it for her whole life. She would continue to do it until someone came along and was willing to take that burden, that incredibly heavy and devastating burden, off of her shoulders.

On one bright morning in early October, when the fall leaves could be heard crunching under the feet of students walking themselves to class...dragging themselves to class...he saw her.

He saw her from across the square. There was a square, a huge square, that dominated the center of their campus. He was heading to the engineering building, and he saw her.

Her newly blonde roots glittered in the early morning sunlight. She must have gotten them done a few days earlier for them to look that fresh. She was wearing a gray mock neck sweater, but a thin sweater—the 55-degree sun didn't offer the need for anything thick. Her ankle boots were brown and clearly two years out of style to anyone else, but he didn't notice that. Her perfectly curled hair and eyeliner sharp enough to cut through steel didn't catch his eye either. Her backpack, the same gray as her sweater, was clearly weighing her down, but that didn't ask for his attention.

It was the way she walked.

She had earbuds in her ears, the wireless kind, black and unconnected to her phone, which she held in her left hand as her arms swung by her side. She walked with her head up, chin tilted just the slightest degree towards the sun. She walked with the confidence of someone who knew who they were, despite—and not to his knowledge—the fact that she had never been struggling more in her life.

A feeling rose in his chest as he saw her. She was heading in the complete opposite direction as him—towards the music building, up the steps, swiftly making her way towards the front doors. But there was something about her that made him turn around and start through the hundreds of other students trying to make their way towards their own 8 AM classes.

And he ran.

He saw the looks he was receiving, he saw the way people rolled their eyes as he rushed past, knocking into their shoulders and bookbags. He ran until he reached the steps and took them two at a time until he was in the building, the music building, where he had just seen her walk in a few seconds before.

A wisp of blonde hair disappeared down the stairs in front of him, down to the lower level of the building, and he followed until he reached the bottom of the staircase just a second behind her.

He tapped her on the shoulder and watched as she turned around, taking out one earbud and then the other, letting them dangle around her neck.

"May I help you?" She asked, her eyebrows raised as she looked him up and down, clearly wondering why any sane person would have tapped her on the shoulder and then stood in silence, panting slightly at his impromptu jog.

He nodded, wondering why in the world he had followed this feeling to talk to a girl who was so incredibly out of his league.

In her head, she was wondering why in the world she had turned around to answer a guy who was so incredibly out of her league.

"I'm Sam." He said, "And I just wanted to say that I saw you walking and...I don't know. You're beautiful and I just had this feeling I should say something to you and—"

"I'm Farah." She replied, smiling, and cocking her head to the side. "And in my experience, our feelings are usually right."