Must-Read Books | Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins

It is a physical illness. Etienne. How much I love him.

I love Etienne. I love when he raises an eyebrow when I say something that he considered interesting or funny. I love to hear his footsteps through the ceiling of my room. I love the accent in his first name is called acute accent, and I love he has a lovely accent.

I love that.

I love to sit by his side in physics. Touch him during the laboratories. His messy handwriting in our spreadsheets. I love loading his backpack when class is over, because then my fingers smell like him for the next ten minutes. And when Amanda says something stupid, and he's looking for me to exchange glances, I love that, too. I love his laugh, his wrinkled shirts and ridiculous hat. I love his big brown eyes, and the way he bites his nails, and I love his hair so much that I could die.

There’s only one thing I do not love from him. She.