The Six Types of Love

AYUSH

Of course, he was here. Of course, this is happening to me. I chuckle to myself thinking about how nothing has seemed real ever since I got my first publishing deal. Every event in my life feels like some bizarre coincidence caused by an incantation that I vaguely remember asking for when I was younger. I remember how excited I had been when the book that I had written about me and Si, The Six Types of Love, blew up on Wattpad, and, even though it wasn't finished, Penguin had wanted to print it. Barely anyone knew that it was a true story about how I was in love with my best friend, Silas Wright, but he claimed to not be in love with me, even though everyone thought he was.

There were so many times I would have died to speak to him, to just have one more conversation, to ask him the one question I had been dying to ask since we had stopped talking.

"Did you ever read it?" I ask, afraid of either answer.

"Every word," He eases and awakens my deepest fears, "Why did you never finish it?"

I forgot that of course he wouldn't know. Barely anyone does. I take a second, look at the broken glass beneath the chair, and then look at him like it might be the last time.

"Because you can't end a book about someone being in love with you if they never actually admitted it."

I let the weight of my statement sit in the air. It's like a cloud between us. Whether we met or not, both of us knew nothing would ever be the same once that book was out.

"Clearly, we're here for a reason Silas. Clearly, the universe wanted us to meet. However, I have a rule that I never have serious conversations when I'm drunk. I'm going to go up to my room, and if you want to meet me tomorrow for coffee at nine, I'll be here." I swallow and get up, "But I won't wait for you."

And this time, I knew I wasn't lying.