Erased

2

SEVEN HOURS AGO
Seven hours ago

The last of the passengers for the trip from New York to Paris entered the cabin twenty minutes late. A set of three friends who were busy laughing and chatting right on the aisle, and a tall teenage boy who looked perhaps a year or two older than I was— around nineteen, or so. The group of friends  stacked their carry-on backpacks on the ceiling compartments, while the boy coughed loudly to part them on the aisle. He then walked through the narrow space, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans as he scanned the cabin for his seat.

He stopped in his tracks right beside me. Our eyes were connected for a moment, until I realize that the seat next to me, the window seat, was the vacant one. His seat. I gushed and stood up to clear the way for him because economy class seats have the smallest of leg rooms, apparently. He slid in without a word, but just a small and genuine smile of thanks. I nodded, returned his smile, and continued listening to the people around me.

Everyone seemed to be excited to go to Paris, talking about all the food and fashion, and of course, the infamous Eiffel Tower. I had lived there all my life, until I somehow took a break and moved to New York with my aunt for about six months, give or take. Despite New York being a place of opportunity, I terribly missed my true home, and so I packed my bags to fly back to Paris.

The boy set his backpack on the floor, opening it just right to fit his hand as he grabbed his earbuds. From the small slit in his backpack I saw a pair of drumsticks peeking out. He glanced up at me, our eyes locked together once again, just as I was about to look away.

"You don't seem excited," he exclaimed,  plugging in his earbuds into his phone.

"For what?" I replied, my head tilting to the side.

"We're going to Paris!" he exclaimed. "Are you not like all the girls who perpetually gush over life and fashion in Paris?"

I pursed my lips at his assumption, "Well, apparently, I'm not like most girls."

"Yeah?" His eyes ran down my figure, and he broke into a grin that took up his entire face. I would be offended, only if he wasn't so handsome.

"Well, I- uh, I used to live in Paris," I managed to say. "So I'm quite used to everything there."

"Really, huh?" His disarming smile was still across his face. Somehow it makes an unexplainable sensation run in my stomach. He opened his mouth to say more, until he was interrupted by the soft chime of my phone.

I pulled out my phone to see a message from my father asking me for the ninth time about what time the plane was to arrive in Roissy. He was too excited to see me once again after the longest time we've been apart. I sent him the same reply I sent twenty minutes ago before finally turning on the airplane mode as the cabin crew started to give the routinary reminders for flights.

"What brought you to New York, then?" he asked not too long after, shifting his entire body to face me. The small circle of light above our heads illuminated his face, and I started to take in his features in a closer level. Bright green eyes, a light dusting of freckles on his nose, and his pearly-white smile. He seemed to have abandoned the idea of sticking his earbuds in, in exchange for a conversation with me— which, I apologize, would be the blandest conversation he would ever have.

"I went to study music in Berklee, but I got homesick," I shrugged and looked to my side. "So now I'm here."

While I was having such a grand time in my new school, learning a lot about my passion and all, I truly missed home— my friends and family, most especially my dad, and my best friend since nappies, Alya. Sure, it was pretty hard to give up on the scholarship I worked so hard to get. All those weeks of rehearsing the same song over and over. The anxiety attack I had when I was just about to enter the stage to sing for the spectators. I did a lot to be in that school, but it seemed to be useless basking in the light all on my own.