Hey.

You there.

The one with the shaggy, blonde hair and L.L. Bean pullover.

I notice you. I see you. I want to know more about you.

What is your name? Major? Availability at 10 p.m. on Saturday night?

Surprisingly, I don’t even know your name, let alone your Instagram handle or Find My Friends location.

Every weekday since January 14, 2019 at 9:05 a.m., we have passed by each other.

I will never forget the first time I laid eyes on you. I was hungover from the night before, running off of Tylenol and a bottle of Aquafina. My hair was in a messy bun with strands flying every which way. I dropped my pencil, grabbed it, and as I stood up, I felt you against me.

You and your adorable, clumsy self hadn’t realized I stopped walking until my backside was touching your thigh.

You opened your mouth and in a sexy morning voice said, “Whoops, didn’t see you there.”

The muscles through your pullover flexed as you picked my hungover body up off the cold ground. Your vintage Adidas sneakers were pure white.

I grinned, cheeks rosy. Was it leftover blush from the night before or the effect of the sight of your face? Who’s to say?

We walked separate ways and onto class I went.

I glanced back at you. Little did I know that I would be seeing you around. Almost every day, actually.

You have walked in front of me, stood behind me in the Chick-fil-A line, and even sat across from me at a basketball game. You have been all around me.

Except for at 9:05 a.m., I never know when our paths will cross. Every time they do, it is so exciting.

I bet you are exciting and a risk-taker.

By your shoes and urban streetwear, I bet you follow Justin Bieber and have a monthly subscription to GQ. Don’t worry, I have a monthly subscription to Vogue, so we can balance each other out.

Who are you, mystery boy?

Will I ever get the courage to start up a conversation?

What would I even say?

“Hey, I like your jacket.” I have seen you wear it almost everyday for the past four months.

“Do you ever go to Chick-fil-A?” You have stared at the back of my head in line before.

“Did you see the game last night?” You jumped so high to grab the free T-shirts that your sweatshirt pulled up, and I got a glimpse of your six-pack.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

That’s the only thing I feel that I don’t know about you.

Imagine the life we could have together if only we exchanged names.

The possibilities? Endless.

Insomnia Cookies at 3 a.m., flipping a penny on a paper map and adventuring to wherever it lands, music festivals, steamy makeouts. Endless, I tell you.

I have a feeling that wherever we find ourselves, it will feel like home.

Our life together won’t be perfect though. We may fight. But I am sure you will always surprise me with flowers to apologize, because as we all know, women are always right. I know I am definitely right when it comes to my feelings for you.

We could go viral on Twitter with an adorable montage of our car karaoke drives.

We could make such a good couple.

But… but….

If only I knew your name.

So here’s to you, mystery boy.

This callout is dedicated to you.

I notice you. I see you. I want to know more about you.

If we ever do cross paths again and we exchange words, I know what my four will be.

“What is your name?”

Until then, I’ll be seeing you around.

Love,
Hattie