JUILLET。
You were supposed to arrive today. After being away from you for weeks, it was finally time for you to arrive. Was I excited? My God, you should have seen me.
I called my mum the day before and asked her to help me make your arrival memorable. I wanted to cook for you, but I really didn't know how, so she helped me via phone call. I also went out to get everything that I would need to make the night special for both of us.
You told me you would be set to arrive in the evening, but declined my offer to come pick you up. You told me you would have to go to your parents' house and then you would come see me. I couldn't wait to see you again.
Before four in the afternoon, I had set everything that needed to be done. I didn't know if you would like balloons so I didn't buy them. But I did buy you flowers—a bouquet of roses. I also bought a bottle of champagne to go with the meal I prepared.
It wasn't easy, believe me. Cooking wasn't as easy as Gordon Ramsay made it seem. I tried slicing through a salmon like he did—I even let the 'knife do its work' but it was pretty much useless. I ended cutting my finger.
But in the end, I did it amidst the cut finger.
By the time everything was done—including me taking a shower and dressing up—it was six and all that was left was for you to show up.
You didn't.
I didn't know why I was still at the dining table at six thirty when it was obvious you wouldn't come. I didn't know why I was still heating the food at seven fifteen when it was clear you wouldn't eat it. I didn't even know why I was arranging the flowers at eight forty when it was very much evident that I wouldn't see you.
I tried calling you but your phone was switched off. I knew you had arrived in Paris but I didn't know why you didn't come to see when you said you would.
I wasn't angry—no, I could never be angry—but I was curious. I wanted to know why you kept hiding.
It was obvious there was something stressing you out, but you wouldn't tell me. I didn't want to ask you pressuring questions but I also didn't want you to explode with all those pressing issues building inside of you.
And knowing all that hurt. It hurt a lot because I knew you didn't want me out of your life, but something made you push me out of your life. I wasn't good at love because I didn't fall in love often; but now I was in love and I didn't know how to handle all those emotions. I could have called my mother, but I knew even she wouldn't know what to do.
She would tell me to follow my heart, but my heart was with you, so how then could I follow it if I didn't have it?
At that moment, I knew I had it bad for you, and nothing could quite change that.
I didn't know why it took me three days to get to your apartment, but it happened anyway.
When I got there, your door was unlocked, and I entered. I found you seated on your sofa with your eyes fixed on the TV. I knew you weren't watching from the way you barely even blinked and still stayed in the same position when the show ended.
I also knew something was wrong because you were clutching the pillow I had my head on the day I was there, and watching the same show we watched.
Wordlessly, I walked to you and touched your shoulder. You didn't even flinch and slowly looked up at me, dark eyes bloodshot and nose stuffed. I watched as you walked up to me; and then apprehensively, I wrapped my arms around you.
You were so frail and small that I didn't want to let you go. I held on to you and kissed you hair then began to trail circles down your back. You were motionless throughout, only taking shaky breaths.
"Let's take a walk," I told you and you nodded.
When I asked you to take a walk with me, I only wanted you to relax and enjoy the fresh air. I wanted you stop hiding in your apartment and experiencing the outside life, even if it was for a short time. I didn't even mind if we were going to walk silently; I wasn't even going to ask you why you didn't come that day. But it seemed you had other plans because the moment we got out of the apartment, you started talking.
"I'm sorry for not showing up," you said with your head lowered.
"You don't have to—"
"No, Harry. I have to apologise to you because I can't keep doing that to you."
I said nothing for a while then I looked at you.
"Alright. I'm listening."
You seemed to relax as you ran a hand through your beautiful hair which looked shorter. You told me that you knew a place where we could talk without being bothered by anyone. A place where we could hide.
We went to a bench that faced a lake where we sat. You were fidgety and seemed to have a mental battle for a while before you started talking again, confirming my thoughts.
"I'm scared," you said, but I already knew. "I'm scared of what I feel... for you."
I didn't interrupt you.
"I'm scared and that is why I keep running from you. I wanted to come and see you but my parents stayed longer, and still I could have gone because I'm twenty two, I'm old enough. But I still didn't go and decided to cower in my apartment. In normal sense, you should hate me but you came to me instead and hugged me. I don't know why you do that, but I know I don't deserve it."
In normal sense. I almost wanted to laugh because what did I know about normalcy? I didn't know a penny's worth about it; did you?
When you finished talking, you finally looked at me and I saw you were crying. I didn't speak again. I only held you close until you stopped crying and reprimanding yourself for being weak. You were not weak; you were strong—so strong that you were able to face your fears and be honest with yourself.
You were the bravest person I knew because even I couldn't do what you did. I never did what you did.
