Chapter Seven

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That night when she passes by the window on her way to bed she sees Harry standing out on his balcony. Arms leaning on the railing, and the cold wind blowing through his hair. He is wearing all black as usual, but there is always a different brand on them, so she knows it's not exactly the same ones from the day before.

Without a second thought, Mila opens the door leading out to her own balcony and steps out into the night. Their balconies touch just like the ones below them, but there is a small wall between them, reaching Harry to his waist. She walks over soundlessly, almost as if she is floating on the cold air, and within seconds she finds herself beside him.

Mila knows that he has noticed her presence, but he doesn't look at her. He doesn't greet her, and that doesn't surprise her anymore. Instead, he starts by asking her a question. "One word. If you could choose one word to describe yourself what would it be?" He is whispering as if there is someone there that can hear him, or maybe he is whispering because he only wanted her to hear.

Mila thinks about the question, but can't come up with an answer, so instead, she asks him. "What would your word be?" He doesn't seem surprised by the fact that she asked. Harry rubs his hands together in a way she has caught him doing quite often.

"A word," He says out loud as if the wind would give him an answer. "Overweening." Harry hasn't looked at her once. His eyes are glued to the black sky with endless stars scattered all over it. "I have a lot of bad qualities that make me unpleasant," Harry says describing the word with little effort.

Mila can't help but silently disagree. He has a lot of bad qualities, but they don't make him necessarily unpleasant. "Passion," she says. "If I could choose one word to describe me it would be passion." This time Harry looks at her with his brows raised, and she immediately figures out what he must be thinking. "Not the sex kind of passion. I mean that I love everything so deeply. From books, and songs to people. I love them down to every last detail. When I hate something I hate it beyond words, but when I love something it completely consumes me. There is no in-between."

Harry lifts himself off of the railing and instead turns to lean his back on it before crossing his arms. "That can be both a good and very bad quality," he tells her. Mila just nods her head, because she already knows it. "If you could choose a word to describe me, what would it be?" Harry asks intrigued by what a stranger's take on him would be. However, she wasn't exactly a stranger, not anymore.

"Closed," Mila answers without a doubt. "You remind me of a closed door. You threw away the only key years ago, and unfortunately, I never learned how to pick a lock." Mila says seriously, but her mouth forms into an amused smirk. Harry lets out a silent laugh. The kind where he looks down, and the only thing you can see is a hint of his crooked smile, and his shoulders shaking lightly. "What about me? What word would you use?"

Harry looks up at her with the same crooked smile still remaining on his lips. "I haven't decided yet," He whispers once again, and she is still not sure why. Harry pushes himself away from the railing before starting to make his way inside. When he reaches his door he stops and turns his head towards her. "Good night." His smile is still clear on his lips while he opens the door, and closes it before she can respond.

"Good night," Mila whispers out into the wind as if it will carry her words with it into his apartment, and make sure Harry hears them before he goes to sleep. She looks at his closed-door a few more seconds before walking into her own apartment.

Limerence H.SWhere stories live. Discover now