blind. 2 | styles (hariana)

VIII. You And I Were Made To Get Love Right

~ Harry ~

She moved away, her eyes filled with the heaviness of her thoughts as we both registered what I had said. I didn't need an explanation, I knew she was hurting. I seek comfort in her response, in spite of it not being what I wanted to hear.

She looked pained, her eyes tracing my face like never before as we both stood in silence, struggling to find the right words to say. I wanted to tell her that I love her again, then I want to tell her once more and again-- a million times if needed.

She created more distance, sighing deeply as a faint smile appeared on her face. "I should go." She murmured, as I registered Michael's firm voice calling her name.

Her hair swayed across her collar bone as she turned around. With her back facing me, she followed after Michael who started to look anything but patient. He shook his head, speaking to her as she approached him.

I couldn't hear them, but she nodded and took his hand soon after and allowed him to lead the way. She disappeared under the glowing red sign, not once looking back at me like I had secretly hoped for.

My lips remembered the warmth of our bittersweet kiss, and I intuitively ran my fingers across them. Despite openly admitting feeling the urge to kiss me, it didn't change the fact that our kiss didn't feel the same.

I poured my love into that kiss and I only felt regret and pain-- so much pain. If any part of her still loved me, if there was a chance it was a very small chance-- an unlikely chance.

She had studied every inch of me with admiration. She recognized me as I spoke, but once she felt me that's when she knew who I was and her lips formed a straight line. She looked so lost and so confused, and empty.

I dreaded the reality where Ariana did not love me anymore, my nightmares are of her never forgiving me. It was a reality I prayed to never wake up to, but I was afraid that she had already woken up.

We spoke, we smiled, we laughed-- we were both so good at pretending things were okay. I knew I fucked up-- I knew the moment I fell for Ariana.

Mistaking interest for love is inevitable. I became interested in Ariana, how could I not; she's an interesting person. I pursued my interests-- Ariana above all, and continued to pursue her. My adoration for Ariana went unnoticed by my heart. I felt head over heels.

However, I knew that I was in love with Ariana the moment I woke up and immediately thought of her, and smiled because I knew-- I just knew.

With my grasp on my feelings, I also became aware of the wrong I did to get the right. The disappointment I have in myself is subduing me. Apologies were hard to come by, and maybe in time Ariana would learn to forgive me but forgiving myself sounded like mission impossible.

In all her beauty she looks undefeated by my actions, and I envy her because of it. I pity my lonesome thoughts and desperation to win one girl back. Love made me weak, but it also made me strong.

One girl is worth the effort when you know she's the one.

I gave her ten months, and I suffered for three. She knows I won't give up, I only hope that she returns the favor.

I slid down the wall, my bum resting on the linoleum floor as I opened her folder. I missed out on ten very important months of her life, and I refuse to lose any more time.

I crossed my legs and rested the folder in my lap. I must have been a nuisance to the Doctors walking past me, but none have spoken to me so far.

I read over each document with precision. There were photos of Ariana included in the folder, and some of Michael's notes. Her progression in the treatment looked unbelievable. She recovered moderately and was even modeled as one of their best results yet.