When You're In Love with a girl

Chapter 22, When You Realize

WHEN YOU REALIZE 

We walk down the steps of the school. "Where do you want to go?" asks Arya.

"Wherever you want." I smile.

"You wanted to hang out." Arya raises her eyes to the sky. "Alright, we can go to Warren Verona Garden."

"I've never been there," I tell her.

"I know the way; it's very close, just a twenty minute walk." We start walking in the opposite direction of the school. "Do you like nature? It is very peaceful in the garden. It is a private garden, but we can enter."

I wonder about the status of the garden as private, but I do not question her. It is my first time being alone with Arya, and I do not want her to see me as a worrier.

I want her to fall in love with me.

We walk through the New York streets in comfortable silence. We're in the good neighborhood part. As we near the garden, I can tell that the houses are all very well-off.

"Arya, where is this garden?" I ask her, after twenty minutes have passed and we're still walking around neighborhood streets.

Arya turns around and smiles a little mysteriously. "We can go to my house first to rest a bit and grab a snack before going into the garden."

She opens the door. A small white dog, probably part-maltese comes running to the door. The dog has only three legs.

"He was found with an irreversibly-broken leg on a city street by the New York animal control, and we rescued him just in time before he was to be euthanized," she says and she bends down to pet him.

"That was good of you," I say.

The house is lit and solemn, with large windows that allow sunlight to spill in. The sunlight reflects off the bright white walls, creating a feeling of wide space. "MB is the best; we've been rewarded by him many times over." Arya smiles pleasantly as we walk to the kitchen. "What fruit would you like?"

I take an apple. "Why did you name him MB?"

Arya laughs and takes an apple. "That was all Matas. It stands for Meatball. I don't think Matas is home right now, and Sara is studying in her room, and Selina is at ballet class."

We walk by a beautiful, ornate grand piano in their family room. "Oh, do you know how to play piano?" I say.

"Some, but mostly it's for Selina. She takes lessons." Arya stops walking and turns around, smiling mysteriously again. "Let's go to the garden."

"Out your back door?" I say, confused.

"Ah, that's the thing..." Arya smiles shyly. "Warren Verona Garden is my father's garden. The garden is our backyard."

"The garden is your father's?!" I exclaim. "What!"

"Yes, my full name is Arya Verona." 

The Veronas are one of the richest families in New York because Warren Verona is a top banker. I shouldn't be surprised then, that Arya goes to Worth-Marion. We walk the beautiful lined brick paths. At first, I think there is no one but us, but then I see just one boy who looks about seventeen with mouse-brown hair, kneeling on one knee with a camera to his eye. 

"Matas."  Arya gestures to him. "I suppose he's taking pictures for his photography course."

Matas, smiling good-naturedly, waves at Arya. "Matas seems nice," I say. A contrast to my own brother! I add in my head.

"Yes, he's pretty good to his three sisters." Matas takes another picture of a pruned, snow-capped Austrian pine and goes back into the house, telling us that he wants to process his pictures.

"Ah, we've got the whole place to ourselves," Arya says freely.

My heart begins to beat faster. Did I hear the correct tonation in her voice? "Yes, we do," I say, my words slurring together.

"What do you want to do?" Arya says.

Somehow, we both know each other's desire for each other. We are standing face to face each other. I gaze helplessly at her beautiful blue-green eyes, her perfect features and her beautiful spirit. Arya blinks slowly and tilts her head at me, looking deep into the depths of my soul.

Deep, I know. It sounds ridiculous, but I really feel that Arya knows me.

I love her, I love, I realize. That's why I've felt so awkward around her. That's why I have never liked a boy. "Arya, I want to tell you—"

"—that you are the best friend I've ever had? I agree." Arya smiles brightly.

My insides feel torn to pieces. An animal—the animal of rejection—claws me, and I bleed inside. "No, no, no," I cry out quietly and step away from our direct confrontation. "Could we... could we be more than friends?" I turn around to look at Arya, who looks honestly confused.

Arya looks at me intently and motions for us to sit down on a bench.

Then I notice Arya's eyes brim with water.

Shocked, I stare at her, my confession forgotten. "Arya! Are you okay?"

"I'm—I'm...." Arya seems at a loss for words.

I can't take her suffering. I hug her, my best friend, she who has haunted many of my thoughts and dreams. I fold my arms around her beautiful, sobbing body. She convulses with each sob.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I love you, but I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I blubber. I am torn with sorrow and heartbreak. This isn't how I thought things would go. Things never do go the right way.

"Alie, listen to me," Arya says, and sits straighter. She wipes her eyes delicately and opens them wide at me. She is like a delicate child. Her eyes are red rimmed and wide, her nose is runny and pink, and her lips are trembling. "I've had those feelings too, for a long time." Her voice is shaky. "Do you know how many girls I have admired but never been able to love?"

"Have you ever... have you ever loved me?" I say quietly, hoping yes.

Arya cries quietly. "Yes, why do you think I am crying? I love you; I've loved you since I met you, I..." she trails off into tears.

It wounds me badly to see her lose her composure. I make myself ask what needs to be asked. "So, what is the problem?"

Arya takes my hand and holds it, like a life buoy. She looks up, into my eyes. "My parents."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading this chapter! What do you think about the new developments in their relationship? 

Comment any of your questions, feedback or comments. I respond to all comments.

Please vote! Voting improves the story's ranking so it can be seen by more readers.

-Tara