Amour. (editing)

Chapter eighteen.

The whole day had passed. Nothing happened and time just flied like that. My mind couldn't agree on one decision. It switched in a matter of seconds to something else. I dressed myself properly; ready to get a nice, relaxing cup of tea before realizing that I was too lazy to drive among the traffic.

Yes, I admit I expected Harry to show up, like he always did. I expected him to clarify what he said and confirm me that he went too far with that. And then maybe we'll go through that part again where he would surprise me by offering a trip to some parlor to make it up to me. But there is one thing I can't seem to put my finger around, how the desire of him grows while all he had done is toy my feelings. Why do I want to see him and apologize for being a little honest? You know that is exactly why I avoid sharing my honest thoughts with people. It always smacks me back.

Our parents will depart for their destination tomorrow morning and won't be back for 2 weeks or so. I make an attempt to empty my thoughts onto a notebook. Which did not really do the job I desired it to. I then opt on killing my time by helping my mother in packing all her needs. Which was friendlier than all my expectation. I snuck into her undies, replaced the normal one with lacier and brighter ones (that women has a better collection than me). She had playfully smacked me after realizing my attempts but at the end did not replace them back. Which got me tad bit disgusted just at the thought.....of whatever she's thinking. What was I doing?

I lay across my bed, fiddling with my phone after losing interest on some book I was reading. There is this sparking urge to make an apology. I scroll through my contacts and pause on the letter 'H'. My mind is debating. Putting in front the pro's and con's. Making me uselessly over think the scenario. I tap on the name that had been flashing in my mind for every passing minute. What is the worst that will happen? He'll just laugh at me, right? Shit.

I quickly end the call at the realization of his cold attitude. He would laugh at me, I'm sure about that. As much as I don't want it to get to me, it does; it pierces its way inside. I can't pull back the two rings that already had flowed to Harry and notified him about my call. I've never wanted an undo button on calls more than now.

I stare at my lock screen photo, seeing how my grandmother smiles brightly, her arms wrapped around my neck for a cheeky picture. I switch my eyes to the time and calculate the current time ticking across the sea, at California. Her name will appear on my screen anytime now, excitement lightens itself.

My mother is too busy, my father is too busy, and my sister is too cool to spend time with me. Even after all excuses I made just to get them to spend time with me, it had never been useful. And as much as I want to give my parents respect, I just can't get myself to. I was brought up mainly in the hands of my grandmother along with Mr. and Mrs. Barton. My parents were hardly home, they were hardly around me so all I had was my grandmother. But then all that broke when she decided to move away, not even to another city, she just decides to move across the sea from me. Skype calls, text messages, FaceTime and whatsoever can never fill the gap that has been created by the distance between us. Amongst all the 7 billion humans, she is the one who knows me inside-out and also accepts me the way I am.

After receiving her call, we both dive into a never ending stream of conversation. From the weather to upcoming events. From her telling about her neighbors while I just keep my mouth shut on the Styles' topic.

I inform her about everything, update her every now and then; this statement is beyond the .shadow of doubt. It's just something inside me that is opting to keep shut now and speak later when maybe the situation is different, a better different. But wouldn't she be offended by hearing it from some third person? Oh give it a break, what is such a big deal? The Styles'!? Woo! She wouldn't really care less.