It was (and still is) great fun to talk about the people we saw entering the room. I remember us making up names for people that were clearly distinctive from the rest (because we didn't really know their names, and we needed a name to address them in our gossip). A garish haircut, weird clothing, it didn't matter. As long as they stood out, they would receive a nickname. A girl with Chinese roots became our very own Lucy Liu, whereas a guy with long blonde hair would be crowned 'the blonde God'. A stubby girl with blonde hair who looked like she had been repeatedly molested while spraying too much hairspray on her locks was instantly named 'the one with the exploded hair'.
Then he entered, casually late. My pupils dilated. Endorphines were released into my bloodstream. For a second, paralysis struck my body.
"..."
My god. This guy was intrinsically gorgeous. As for me, definitely an inhabitant of red-tip village.
Around 1,75m tall, this guy had amazingly beautiful out-of-bed (brown) hair, brown eyes, sideburns combined with a perfectly nonchalant five o'clock shadow. He was lean and wore clothes that only he could pull off. And perhaps the most attractive aspect: his confidence skyrocketed through the roof. He demanded to be looked at, but not in a cocky kind of way. From the very moment he entered the auditorium, I (and very likely along with at least 10% of other people in a 50 meter radius) fell in love. I fell in love in a shallow kind of way. I fell in love with his looks. After consuming him visually, I couldn't help but thinking:
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