Walk pass her. Do it slowly, subtly. Careful now, don't want to make a big show. Don't want to make that faceless girl in pink giggle unnecessarily and change her mind. Don't be desperate, don't taint her with your desire. Remember the aesthetics, remember her purity, remember that she is beautiful, and no lustful thoughts can ever change that. Crystallize the moment, freeze it into a glass ornament, leave it on a shelf where nothing can ever touch it.

She looks up. There is this look of surprise, of intrigue. Yet this is this trace of expectancy. Be natural, don't smile, don't blush, don't give her the idea that you're intimidated, as all warriors before a maiden that shames them into submission. Approach with an intention as pure as the words on your poem, as much as you imagined.

The paper. Into her fingers. She holds up her hand, holds your paper. At that moment both your fingers touch the same object that will connect yet detach, simultaneously.