Days

April 21st

Writing from so very far away, after so much has changed, I hardly remember the details of that day. Perhaps my tired mind renders the events of that very much fateful day much brighter, happier than they truly were. But I'm sure of one thing; it was a good day. In every possible way.

A Friday, it was, as if I'd forget. Last but one day in London for me; we were to get up around 6 am the next day and catch the Eurostar back to the happy country of France. No one was looking forward to that Saturday, and not only because it was the end of our stay - each day of the week, we had walked around the capital for hours on end, taking little to no breaks, and we barely got the time, in the few hours of sleep our supervisors had crammed into our schedule, to let our strained legs and exhausted bodies rest. And so getting up at such an early hour was exciting for no one...especially, I must say, for me. I had, every single night of our stay, kept myself up until 3 or so am, despite the exhaustion, despite the fucking cramps in my feet, to talk to that someone who had captured my heart. Every morning, I'd wake up with 4 hours of sleep at most and be tugged around London for 15 or so hours, in a mix of joyful and lovesick.

The day was a bright one from its very start, or rather had been bright before I even woke up. Confessions had been made, ones I'd never forget, during that night, confessions I'd dreamt of reading but never ever had the courage to even imagine typing out. Things happen. I did. The answer I received, I remember it exactly, but won't type it out, no. For one, it will only pour salt into wounds that are still gaping open, and anyways, some things are better kept to yourself. That memory, though, is one of those I hold closest to my heart, the warmth that had spread through my chest, blood rushing to my cheeks, tears sprouting in my eyes as my room mates slept on... Yes, yes, Friday was to be a good day. I knew it.

Frankly, I couldn't wait for the evening, the whole day. The trouble with having a whole ocean between the one you believe is your soulmate and yourself is schedules, and times you can talk. Our own appointed time of discussion or so to speak was in the evening, generally after 10 pm. And, god, I was practically shaking with the need to speak to him again, to say everything I had been keeping inside for far too long. I was roused by my friend, told to get up and get dressed quick so we could have breakfast before leaving, and executed the actions with a mix of excited speed and tired slowness. Average speed for a tired girl desperately in love, I'd say. Of course, I never stopped babbling for a second, smirking widely as I recounted the tales of the evening to my sleeping companions, all three grinning happily for me. I hadn't shut my mouth about the object of my affections the whole week, and I presume they were quite glad I would stop saying how damn scared I was to tell him and maybe shut up a little, too. I hardly ate, too occupied in the higher realm of a lovestruck mind, and in such spirits, hit the road.

While we rode the tube, a friend of mine on the trip came up to me and sat besides me, asking about 'that guy'. I had looked absolutely lovesick since the start of the stay, and had eaten little to nothing, therefore attracting a little too much attention - most of the girls on the trip were aware of me and my little love problem. This one in particular had made me list the pros and cons of confessing the previous day; for the record, I believe we reached 7 pros for 2 cons. I told her brightly we'd confessed to each other, that the feeling was mutual, that he too had been anxious about confessing...simply a happy, relieved conversation. She smiled at me and congratulated me for my courage before getting up to leave her seat to my closest friend. I later learnt that girl grew to fall in love with me, and am eternally saddened I did not realise this in my state. I think back to this rather bitterly, now. Newly seated friend put a hand on my knee and spoke.

"So~ Are you two dating ?" she had asked, her tone daring, face just a little too close.

"N-No...It took so much just to confess, I was really scared ! Plus I want to take things slowly...I love him so much, I don't want to scare him away by being too rushy or anything..."  I'd answered with an embarrassed smile and a bright blush. I was laddled with further questions about the evening for the rest of the day, but answered them gladly and with growing joy.

Saying "imagine what I must have felt like, after learning my love returned the affection I held for him !" doesn't quite cut it, I think. In everything I did, I was somehow reminded of him. I thought back to the evening, to the texts we'd exchanged, thought and grinned widely. I wondered what it would feel like to hold his hand. To cup his face. To kiss his lips. To have him close, to be able to blurt out my love for him at any given time. It made me feel good. It made me feel better than ever. I wasn't calling him my boyfriend, not yet - although a slip of tongue occurred, once, and I was teasingly reminded I still had to make that official step - but the feeling in my heart was already incredibly strong. I was happier than ever...or so I thought.

The evening rushed by, but must have felt incredibly long in my mind. I cursed everything we did, was exasperated by each and every new move we made, and must have seemed extremely unpleasant to the people around me. Did I care ? Not one bit. There was only one thing on my mind, one single thing, and that was him, him, how he was, where he was, was life alright ? Was he doing okay ? I couldn't, simply couldn't wait to speak to him. Who cared about food ? I could do without that ! I could do without basically everything, except him, that contact, the thread we'd weaved together. "Tonight, I might go ahead and ask," I whispered to my friend, then hiding my face in my hands and letting out a shaky sigh. No explanation was needed. She patted me on that back and said "Go ahead and do it !" The subject changed. My mind was away. 

I remember not how things went after that. I can hardly remember what we had for dinner, or at what time we finally settled in our rooms. Mayhap the memory of that proposal, and its eager acceptance, shines too bright. I don't even remember what words we exchanged before I asked, in fact. What I do remember is little, but means an eternal amount to my heart, and probably always will.

"i have something to ask, but I'm so stressed out hhnn..."

"relax, it's be okay ~" 

Being reassured like this by him made my heart melt a little, and the question just flowed out of my mouth - or, to be exact, my fingers typed it out on their own. I asked three questions, I'm sure of it. Three successive questions, to make sure I wasn't overstepping my bounds. I remember today only two : would you date someone online ? If so...would you date me ?

That was it, it was done. I'd asked the fateful question I'd been keeping in for so long. It was 4 am, I was absolutely exhausted, half asleep, and my restrains were entirely removed; I firmly believe that if it had been earlier, I would have been completely incapable of asking. But I was, then. I did. And the response I received...

It was like something straight out of a dream.

Something along the lines of "What ? You would date someone like me ?" Some other spontaneous stuff I can't quite recall, and then... "In conclusion, yes ?"

Oh god, I think I actually squealed out loud. Very unlike me, very humiliating; I almost woke up one of my room mates, which would kind of have ruined matters. Thankfully, they all stayed asleep, and I was able to pour out my heart to him, only to receive the same thing from him. Fucking blessed, I was ! My exact thought. I couldn't be happier. He seemed to go offline; I took the opportunity to go to sleep for a small while until he replied, putting my phone on vibrate so it would awaken me if he texted back. I fell asleep imagining his arms around me, and did not feel the vibration when it did come.

                      ...I did, however, wake up at 6 am, with, yes, 2 hours of sleep to carry me back to France. I was sick the next day from lack of sleep, but the happiest I had ever been.