It was never for long, just the split second that she noticed before she could easily dismiss it, distracting her with a comment or a look. Then she would forget about it, and she felt brave enough to do it again.
She wasn’t sure why she was so transfixed on looking at her. It wasn’t as if Nuri had some outstanding feature worth so much of her attention. Yet maybe that was why. At first glance, she seemed so ordinary, just a sour-faced girl trying to prove something. Yet when she would look again, she would catch glimpses of a smile she would quickly wipe away, see a flush to her cheeks at a brush of hands or an affectionate word. It was that second look that drew her in.
She admired the way Nuri’s hands never seemed to stay still, always moving as she talked, clutching her clothes when she was nervous and balling into fists when she was upset. They were simple, ordinary hands, and she reflected on how her fingers would fit between hers. That, she could admit, was less damning then the similar thoughts she had regarding her lips.
“Why do you keep staring?” Nuri confronted her at last. She watched her face, the way her brows came together, the confusion in her eyes. Her gaze then went to her hands that were pulling at her clothes and flexing, a sign of her frustration. She had forgotten she was expected to reply when Nuri pulled her attention away from the frown at the corners of her mouth with a loud, “Well?!”
“You have an eyelash,” she reached out, and with a light touch brushed her fingertip under the curve of her eye. Nuri blinked, and she held out her finger to her. “Make a wish Buri.”
She blushed, from embarrassment (and anger, if the tightening in her jaw was any indication) before looking away with a huff. “I-I wish you’d stop calling me that!”