Our eyes met for the first time while I was working. My dad owns a diner, a '50s-style place with blue-and-white checkered tiles, vintage Coca Cola posters, and a jukebox. I've been working there ever since I learned how to operate a stove. I was cleaning the tables when you and a friend came in. Any normal person would have continued working. Any sane person would have kept their eyes down. But my sanity broke the moment I heard the sound of the door as you entered. A brief automatic glance turned into a prolonged gaze when I recognized you. You must have felt my gaze, because after just a moment, you turned your head and looked me straight in the eyes. And just like that, I was hooked. A miserable fly trapped in a net. Now they had taught me good manners. I know when to say please and thank you, I know when to hold the door open for someone or when to offer an elderly person my seat on the bus. But I couldn't help it as my eyes blazed through you shamelessly. I've never seen eyes like yours before. Practically black, as dark as the shadows you prefer. I lit them with an intense fire that burned straight into my soul. I suddenly understood why people feared you: one look and it's like you know every dark secret, every skeleton in the closet. My arms tightened around the plastic container containing the dirty dishes, perhaps trying in vain to hide from those piercing pupils, all the while wishing they would see me. Your long-haired, lanky friend ordered as you leaned against the counter, eyes still on mine. You stared at me and I stared back. There was nothing else I could do. We said nothing to each other, of course, but our eyes made a silent promise. We will meet again. Once we received the food in a white paper bag,... . ... middle of paper ...... in my face. I don't dare cough while breathing in your secondhand smoke. “You want something from me.” It is not an investigation, but a simple observation. A fact. “Take me away from this place,” I plead. I hate it here, I hate it. I need danger. I need adventure. I need you. Your smile is excited. Dangerous. Tempting. “I can make you fly, little girl,” you say eagerly. “I can give you wings, but you have to be willing to leave your perfect little life behind.” My life ended the moment you walked into my family's restaurant a few weeks ago. You are my life now. I lift my head, staring unblinkingly into those cold, dark eyes. "Take me away," I repeat, more firmly. "Let's fly." You hold out your hand to me, giving me a chance to move on before I ruin my life forever. I know your intentions are far from good. Your heart is as black as your lungs. Yet I still take your hand.