They say curiosity kills the cat. I was the cat. He killed me.
I remembered the first time I saw him. He was wearing a blue shirt and a navy pants. His spectacles frame was black, and he walked through the door with an intense stare. That stare was his trademark. I am sure until today, everyone remembers him as the-boy-with-the-intense-stare. And that stare was the first mystery that I thought, at that time, I need to discover.
As the time goes by, I became the only girl who knew him and was not even scared of him. Others were too intimidated by that stare of his. They always thought he was a very serious person, not knowing how to approach him. He was, actually. But there were many sides of him that they would not expect. Such as his love and passion towards cats. Oh, how much he love cats, especially kittens. He said that it was as if they understand him, his pain, his sorrows, his feelings and his joy. He was actually a very sensitive person, very softhearted despite his tough shell. And his experiences with his previous love, which made him sceptical about giving commitment to others.
I thought I could change that. I thought that after I broke his shell, and made him share the reason behind his intense stare and serious personality, I could break his wall and make him an open person, at least towards me. And I tried for a long time, and I believe I succeeded. It turned out that he was actually still in his own world, pretending that he let me step into it, just to please me. Being a fool I am, I bought the play and walked into my own trap, because I was the one who believed that I could enter his world one day.
The day I knew that my own curiosity killed me, I blamed myself. I thought that I could honestly love him enough to lighten up his world, but instead, it made my world as dark as the sky without stars. At that point, it dawned to me that perhaps some mysteries are not meant to be discovered. Embrace it, and let it be one of the wonders in your life.