𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼: ǟ ʀɛǟʟɨȶʏ ֆɦɨʄȶɨռɢ ȶǟʟɛ ✤ ֆɛʋɛʀʊʂ ҳ օƈ

𝚃 𝚛 𝚊 𝚗 𝚜 𝚌 𝚎 𝚗 𝚍 𝚎 𝚗 𝚌 𝚎

"Hey everyone, please remember no phones on the clock."

Click.

Niamh slid her phone to the side, keeping her gaze parallel to the assistant manager.

She was the one being talked to. Nobody else had been scrolling or texting. Obviously.

It was fair. Truly, at a grocery store---even in the quiet moments---there's always a customer. People have to eat! It's an essential job.

But that didn't make Niamh loathe working any less. The second week of August approached---and before she knew it, college would too.

And not a shift yet.

She'd been slacking---not meditating, not looking over her script, not visualizing.

Maintaining that endurance, that habit, in itself simply became difficult. All those negative thoughts, those negative vibrations.

Against all emotions, though, a symptom still burned strong within her.

And until she shifts, something would always be off. Incomplete.

"Hey, I see we're taking the same calculus class this fall. I'm actually pretty good at math, do you want to study together when things get tough?"

Through her mask, Niamh smiled at Brenden. She handed the basket to make it easier for him to carry it to the cartroom.

"I'd like that."

Brenden still crushed on her.

But I, I never would. I'm sorry. But friendship is all I can take at this point.

I can't take romance.

Niamh briefly flipped open her writing journal. All those snippets: plot points, scenes, characters. Names and ages. Rules of the astral world, laws in which that medieval fantastical society lives in.

I can't read romance. I can't write romance.

All I want is my Severus.

I cannot love in this world.

All those brainstorms. Outlines. The subplot arc. It never really left her. Writing really never her. It would always be her dream job.

But, those outlines were so old. Old by a month---but that's a long time for an aspiring writer.

Everything was put on hold. Severus stole every moment of her focus. She could not bear to watch, read, write a romance of any sort anymore.

It was painful.

Niamh watched Brenden walk into the cartroom.

Very painful.

Kissing, caressing, loving---it was a beauty painful for her to watch. Both in daily life or media. All she could imagine was the feeling she'd never experience. The kiss her lips would forever be a virgin of.

That was the symptom.

Not tingling---that hadn't occurred in a month.

Not angel numbers---exhaustion had rendered her asleep before she'd notice one.

Nor dreams---not even that strange goat.

Yearning.

Her soul clung to that one love. And for a time, she'd hope her mind would move on.

That perhaps, she could date Brenden. Find love in this world.

But true love never leaves us, does it?