Him

His calm demeanor assures you striking a conversation with him is probably worth it. The faint scar on his eyebrow bears witness to the fact that he was rambunctious as a kid; he's had his age of outburst and impulses.

He isn’t the guy who sits across the bar and finds ways to impress you. He is the one makes himself comfortable on a sofa and sinks in a book. He isn't trying to be charming; and that's what sets him apart.

His eyes appear cold and steely at first, oblivious to the crowd around him. His mundane glasses schemingly shield the warmth in his eyes. But you know him well, and you'd realize the look is just a facade, an appearance to keep people at bay. You'd find a string of red-veined strings tied across his wrist, reminding you this is his devised method to keep in touch with traditions and, for emotional reasons. His banalities seem so trivial, but a memory to cherish when he makes you a part of it. His laugh, booming with such joy, you'd laugh with him; at him.

His cropped hair reminds you of the archetypical male precedence — he's too lazy to visit the barber frequently. But you're not complaining; not as yet.

His dimple across his right cheek that breezily appears through conversations is your reward that he appreciates your company. His conversations remind you that we haven't lost the good guys to the Waser River as yet.

The party has ended. The bar is shutting shop. It's time to go. The niceties are exchanged. You should probably leave. But not before you find a way to get back in touch with him.

After all, you want him to be more than a fading memory.