French Lover; Antoine Griezmann

Chapter Three

I settled down in an average hotel with a splendid view. I sat down on the bed, acknowledging that I've done what my grandmother wanted me to do.

The jet lag sucked at me like some colossal leech on my energy, if I stopped moving for a second I would fall asleep. In fact, I have been awake for several hours, or at least, the during the whole flight. I climbed onto the 'so comfortable' looking bed and drowned into the bed of comfort and pillows. I was soon fast asleep.

Indeed, it wouldn't be a jet lag if I hadn't woke up at 3am in the morning, feeling hungry. All that I had brought along was crisps and it was too late to get food outside. I didn't know anything else around this area at all.

I sat on the desk with minimum amount of light from the lamp beside me. I stared at the screen of my phone, the photos of Marc and I. It was a few days ago that I've wrote it down. And still, I remembered what I wrote.

Somehow, I thought I'd get rid of the feeling. Grandmother had asked me a few times about it but I only chose to avoid it. I wouldn't have thought that I'd still question my 'love' for Marc. Believe me, I used to feel butterflies in my stomach everytime he looked at me. His look would send shivers down my spine and his voice would bring warmth inside me. His touch would stay on my skin like a mark and never had I ever questioned 'us'.

But no, as days passed, the doubt increased. I tried to push it away, to make it work but the thrill wasn't there. It was slowly fading.

I remembered the motive of this trip. I wanted to experience all that I could, without any obstacles. I wanted to free my mind into a new place. Personally, I loved the smell of a new city. It was always nice to meet new faces, new places. Creating and writing down memories had never seemed to be a problem for me as that was what I was meant to do. I couldn't wait for the day to begin. For me to discover what my grandmother was talking about. The meaning of freedom and love have never been more difficult to understand.

-Kenna

I set my phone aside before I searched my journal to continue writing.

'I could've sworn I kept it here,' I thought, fishing through my bag.

"Shoot!" I said underneath my breath as I remembered that I might've left it on the airplane as I was too busy handling my luggage. I heaved out a groan before I lie down on my back, facing the ceiling.

"Well, what a way to start this trip," I said.

I've been waiting for the morning for so long that I barely believe my eyes when the sharp shadows cast by the street-lamps through my metallic blinds start to fade, diluted by the onset of daylight. Then a chorus of birds breaks the drone of the city traffic. I know it's too early to be up, but I've waited for this day for so long. I've trained for it for twelve long years and now it's here. Once the kitchen light is on the garden beyond is nothing but dark. I resolve to sit with a latte and wait for the rays to kiss the plants, returning their virescent hues and ushering in the new day.

After an hour of preparing myself, I got down to the lobby where I was greeted with a smile. Almost immediately, my eyes caught a sight of a café down the street.

"Hi, can I have the Blueberry pancakes and a cup of latte," I ordered before I took my seat.

"Sure, can I have your name?" the lady at the counter asks, with a pen and paper ready in her hands.

"Uh, what for?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Oh, it's how we'll call you when your order is ready," she smiled.

Strange, but an oddly interesting system.

I took my seat as I turned my laptop on. It was going to a be a morning of writing and breakfast.