Copyright © 2015 by roastedpiglet (of Wattpad)
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Piggy's Note:
Thank you so much for reading How to Fall in Love. Even if I'm unable to thank you all personally, know that in the bottom of my heart, I am and forever will be grateful to you. I literally wouldn't be just one chapter away from finishing a full-length novel if it weren't for your lovely support.
I love you so, so, so much, and even if Finn and Mia's story is ending in How to Fall in Love, you have to remember that they live on forever—if you let them. I'm really not emotional. [devil whispers] Liar.
Song above is "See You Again" by Wiz Khalifa ft. Charlie Puth.
This is the last chapter. The next one will be the epilogue.
Till the next—and last—time?
Your #Fia Captain,
Myka
❀❃❀❃❀
c h a p t e r f i f t y - o n e
[ h o w t o f a l l i n l o v e ]
Over a hundred people attended my mother's funeral Friday afternoon.
It was a couple of hours fraught with tears, regret, and heartbreak—all factors that pinpoint the death of a loved one. The funeral was held at Ever Perpetual Cemetery here at Queens, with my mother's casket pulled down the earth next to my father's. The priest was a fairly good one in blessing the casket with his bottle of holy water—there was something about him that assured the attenders that my mother would indeed be all right in the next life.
Someone who was also good at assurance was Leonardo, he to whom I was sat next under the vast tent he'd rented for the funeral. Several mono-block chairs were put next to each other to give seat to all who attended—there was Aunt Isabel, Uncle Israel, Mr. Kendrick, my mother's colleagues in Fischer Medical Hospital, and several others whose lives were touched by my mother.
The funeral lasted for a few hours—first there was a Holy Mass, next there was the dreadful part of the relatives having to take the podium and speak about my mother with tears spilling over their lashes, and then there was the laying down of the casket six feet under the ground. Through all those I'd been able to hold back my tears, not crying when it was my turn to speak and even being the source of a few laughs to lighten the dark atmosphere, and I'd patted Leonardo when I realised he was doing the exact same thing.
One thing to learn about funerals was that if the close relative—or romantic partner—of the dead loved one was stoic with no tears running down their cheeks, that would mean they were trying to hold it together which then meant that they were the ones who'd been most affected by the death. These people were the ones who were going through the most difficult time, and knowing that Leonardo was there with me in the dark cavern wherein death put us gave me a sense of assurance that I was not alone.
This assurance stayed with me until the only people left under the tent sat on mono-block chairs in front of the grass under which lay my mother's casket were Leonardo and I.
We were two feet from the grass—my mother's grave—and we were sat next to each other, both paying no attention to anything but the grave. By this time it was already five in the afternoon, and rain started to trickle down the tent sheltering us, making me hear the pitter-patter and the drizzle of the grass uncovered by the tent becoming wet. I gave it no heed and continued to stare down, thinking of the last time I was here, visiting my father's grave, and a green umbrella appearing out of the sky to shelter me.
Soon the sky became more furious, dark clouds relentless in precipitating water, that very same water pouring down on the tent until it shook both Leonardo and me, shattering the dream-like trance we were stuck in. We looked at each other, startled by the noise. I cleared my throat, visibly sniffled, and asked, "Are you okay?"
It was a stupid question, and so, so generic, that it was one which made some people roll their eyes upon being asked it. But sometimes, no matter how unoriginal the question was, it spoke to the heart, the words acting like some tether that pulled the soul of the recipient back to life.
Leonardo shook his head, his lips curling up in a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. It was devastating to look at.
I nodded, understanding very well what he was feeling. "Me too."
He tried to chuckle, but it came out like a strangled noise piercing my ears. "Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?"
"I'll get it," I answered, standing up and getting the umbrella one of the attenders left under her mono-block chair.
He stood up. "No, sit down and let me take care of it."
"Leonardo," I started, my tone swimming in the waters of warning, "I'll get it."
Ever Perpetual was a relatively average-sized cemetery, housing over a hundred dead people in varying shelters—some inside a small, self-fixed house, others in tombs on the ground, and of course the rest buried within the earth. The houses and tombs were situated in a different area of the cemetery—the other side of the road. The buried caskets took up most of the space of the side we were on. What separates the two areas was the road which was wide enough for there to be two lanes.
With this information it would be customary that I would know if a car suddenly geared itself inside the cemetery and parked on the road even with the heavy rain falling in thick sheets. That was why when I turned around to get food for Leonardo and me, I saw that there was a slick blue car that just parked on the street, with the driver getting out of it, an umbrella above his head, and going to the backseat, opening the door.
My heart skipped a beat when the man that emerged from the backseat was wearing an American tux, its black and white formality overriding my proper blouse and Leonardo's white shirt collar. The man shook his head at the driver when the latter tried to hand the umbrella to the former. Instead, the man took out an umbrella of his own, popped it open, and patted the driver on the back before turning to approach the tent, his eyes locked on me.
Those cyan-grey irises were a colour that would forever and a day be distinctive to me—I might look at the same colour somewhere on a top, a notebook, or even a cell phone, but I would always remember it to be the eyes of the man I loved.
However, I remembered that this man called it quits and said goodbye to me, in spite of me trying to reach out to him and not wanting to let go. It didn't make sense that he would be here now, especially after having his secretary send me a text using his number, saying this:
This is Finn Laurel's secretary, Andrew Whitlock. I'm ordered to inform you that the people behind Genesis have been dispatched, and we are to officially bury Genesis as if it never happened. Finn Laurel would like to extend his gratitude to you. Cheers!
I had stayed in the posh-gothic restaurant yesterday until I had seen Daniel answer a phone call, stand up from his booth, and leave the restaurant. After a few hours, when I had returned to the memorial service to gather my things, I had received that text and felt it—Finn was done with me.
That was why when he reached the tent, closed the umbrella and tossed it onto a random chair, and took measured steps to approach me, what fuelled my blood was wounded anger.
I stared up at Finn, who was by now right in front of me, and shook my head at him. "You're a bit late in attending as the funeral's over," I said through gritted teeth, catching Leonardo size up the situation from my peripherals. Knowing I had to act nice and remember what was important, I let out a packed a sigh, and said, "But since you still came here, I have to thank you. Though you never met her, we appreciate that you're paying respect. She's buried there."
Finn followed my line of gaze and, upon it, approached the grass with a temporary tombstone containing the information of my mother's name and birth and death dates. He sat down, brandished a candle from somewhere inside his tux, and lit it up using a match. He bowed at the tombstone, after which he introduced, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Lockheart. I'm Finn Laurel, a good friend of your daughter."
I closed my eyes at the words.
Good friend.
Leonardo cleared his throat, catching my attention. When I opened my eyes and looked at him, he said, "You stay here and take care of the guest. I'm going to get us food."
Before I could open my mouth to protest, Leonardo was gone, snatching the umbrella I had been holding right from my fingers. That meant I was stuck under the tent, in the pouring rain, with none other than Finn.
As though sensing my predicament, the furious clouds cackled, a thunder closely following a lightning.
I heaved a sigh, telling myself that I would not lose control. I would not cry. I would not lash out and rant about how unfair it all was, life making me lose two people at once.
I walked over to Finn and sat down the grass beside him, sensing him stiffen from my close proximity and making him stop his speech.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment but continued to say, "I apologise for treating her poorly the first time we met. I was being petty over a spilled drink, no matter how burning it was, just because it was a busy week with just as petty stockholders. Alex brought me to that coffee shop saying something about how relaxing it is, so when I believed him only to be made a fool afterwards, it really made me lose my cool."
I shifted my gaze to him, surprised by his words.
He ignored my stare, and prevailed with his speech, "After that my company fell in crisis, and I briefly wondered if that was my karma for humiliating her in public and surely making her lose her job. I told myself that that was impossible, that such things don't exist, but I might as well have been wrong since a day after, she came to my company and fixed the crisis."
Dejection swallowed me in one fell swoop, remembering that I lied to him about the bug—and that he didn't understand.
"I wanted to give her the head position for the Files Department right then and there, but something about her unsettled me. I had a feeling that she had something more to do with the bug than her removing it." He paused, pursing his lips, before he spoke again. "Something told me that she had something to do with its creation. But she told me that she didn't, and I chose to believe her. Even though that feeling never left and simply resided in the part of my mind which I couldn't reach, I was about to hand her the position. But then I remembered where she studied, that she was a drop-out, and knew I had to make an evil that I believed then would be for the benefit of my company. I refused to take her in.
"I didn't know her, but I knew enough that she would lash out at me if I said I didn't want to hire her for the job. So I then reverted to my business transaction self, sealed a fifty thousand dollar cheque, and offered it to her in lieu of the position. I thought someone of her social standing would be quick to accept it. But I was wrong. She lashed out at me, saying something about how unprofessional I was, and that was when I felt insulted.
"She didn't really help when she suddenly proposed that I give her Little Italy Townhouse instead. The townhouse is really special to me. That was where I grew, that was where the last time my family had been happy happened, and that was the last time I saw my father as something human. That place means a lot to me, and for her to ask for it like it was some penny further insulted me. I was about to abandon all reason and make her get the hell out of my company, but then she did something that surprised me."
He smiled at the thought, silently lighting the candle when the harsh wind blew it off. He then said, "She was about to cry. There were tears threatening to run down her cheeks, and that was the first time I really looked into her eyes and saw nothing but sincerity bolstered upon them. It was like a divine intervention. That was when I calmed down, ruminated my choices, and opted to let her live in the townhouse until its renovation."
I felt tears wanting to escape from my eyes. I was here, sat next to Finn with a small margin of air separating our arms from touching, and I was hearing his side of the story. For a while I'd thought of myself as the victim, profusely swearing at Finn for treating me the way he did, but I never wondered what he felt the entire time around, only knowing to be a know-it-all who thought she knew it all, even the emotions of a stranger she'd never even shared a meal with before.
"And for a while, I thought that was it. Nothing more to her but a temporary person living in my townhouse," he continued, emitting a low chuckle from his throat. "But then Denisse, a woman who's missed out a lot by making the mistake of marking me as nothing but her last option, came to New York and invited me to her grand concert. Of course I had to go. I was still infatuated with the idea of us getting together. But I had to show Denisse that I have someone else. That was when Alex shared to me the craziest idea he's ever had.
"He told me to take someone I knew enough but at the same time didn't to the event, and I only had one person in mind—this girl who shamelessly rejected fifty thousand dollars and instead asked to live in my townhouse. After a series of him rattling to my ear hour after hour, I went with his idea, just to shut him up. Then I came to the townhouse, took her with me, and had someone give her a make-over. And damn, Mrs. Lockheart, when I thought she was beautiful the first time I saw her at the coffee shop, I realised it full time when I saw her in that black dress. She was so beautiful. She still is."
I averted my gaze from the smile that took control of his lips, because it was a smile that resembled Leonardo's—a smile that didn't reach his eyes. I took refuge of the tombstone, staring at it, at the name of my mother carved in bold, capital letters, realising how my mother never really met Finn, that this was their first official meeting.
The tears in my eyes began to fall.
"I then took her to the event. I really wanted to give her a good time as her date. I really wanted to treat her well like a gentleman would. But these hopes vanished when I saw Denisse, and I was rattled, and I lost control. If I had a day in the past to take back and alter the events that happened there, I would choose that day. If I could take back all the awful things I said to this beautiful girl, I would do it, even if I lose a hundred days in exchange. I'm sorry, Mrs. Lockheart, for that day. I told her things I didn't mean. I'm sorry for taking out my anger to her and without fear or shame hurt her in the only way I could. And I'm sorry that she had to see the most dreadful side of me when for all I know, all she wanted to do was help me.
"I carried that guilt with me when I reached out to Alex after being unable to find her. She disappeared, but not like she didn't have any good reason to. I basically barked at her to leave. After that I was stuck in a hole of what seemed to be my lowest point; I allowed myself to become a monster to her. But when Alex arranged a way for us to meet again, I was reluctant to make peace her, partially because I didn't want to acknowledge how big of an asshole I was, but mainly because I was afraid to look her in the eyes and see a monster reflected in them. I was afraid to see for myself how much of a monster she saw me as."
I shook my head, knowing that even though Finn wasn't looking at me, I knew he saw me shake my head. I wanted to let him know, silently, that I didn't think of him as a monster, not right now.
"But I knew it would even be more wrong if I decided to ignore her. So I went to this pub Alex chose for us to meet, the only local place that could care less if we were wanted criminals or top celebrities, and waited with her clothes I made sure to get washed. I didn't know whether she liked roses or chocolates, and I was afraid she might reject them anyway, so I opted to give back her clothes instead. When she finally went to the pub, I couldn't wait to be alone in my room and howl for joy that she accepted my apology. I think that was the first time I felt something different for her, because she gave this monster a second chance.
"And this monster wanted to be a full-fledged gentleman who would turn her frowns upside down and make her smile. I didn't know how to do that. I wasn't funny like Alex was. So when I had to face annoying reporters about Denisse, I had to quickly think of a name that would get them off my tail, a name that frequented my head—her name. And that was how she became my fake girlfriend."
This time, the smile that tugged his lips upwards reached his eyes, but it was only for a short while.
I wiped the back of my palm against my cheeks.
"I then invited her to Central Park. Actually, it was kind of an order, not leaving room for her to say no, because I was scared as fuck that she'll reject me. I never want that to happen. What I didn't know, though, was that I had to wait for hours and hours in the pouring rain until she finally came, and I honestly wanted to laugh in frustration when she told me the reason: she forgot. I wanted to take revenge, but I told myself to shut it and offered her a job in my company.
"We were cold from the rain and I was afraid she'll get sick because of me. I took her to Via's Pizzas to warm ourselves and that was when she opened up about Denisse. I hated how I had to be reminded of something so sinister on a dinner date I wanted to be decent, and when she provoked me about it, I was forced to lie and say that yeah, I still loved a person I never properly loved to begin with. And that was when she suddenly said something about this creep called Miles and the annoyance I felt shot to the skies. I even made sure to Google him and size him up when I got home. I forgot about him for a while, though, when she crumbled in pain again, and I felt pain again, too, even if I didn't have gastric ulcer. I was so glad when it subsided after a while. When we returned to my car, that was when she said she accepts my job offer, and I had to be stupid and blurt out that I find her strangely adorable."
I let out a short laugh when he referred to Miles as the creep, remembering what Miles said about creeps and ultimate dicks and how these words were all a ploy to get me away from him.
Finn sent me a furtive glance, surprised by the sound of my laugh, before he quickly looked away to fixate his gaze on the tombstone and continued to say, "Her first day on the company was a memorable one to me. It was when she went to my office and complained about the camera tracker under her desk, the camera of which I agree needs to be removed as soon as possible especially since it was never my idea to begin with and instead my perverted uncle's who implemented it when he let me have a three-day, two-night vacation at Jeju Island, and she opened up about her past and I opened up about mine. It's the first time I realised that I actually like her.
"The following days ensued noiselessly until I had to learn from Alex that she went someplace else and suddenly I was on a rush and I drove to the place she told me she'll be meeting the creep. There, I found her, and easily lost her. When I found her again, she was dancing with the creep. I felt so, so jealous that I had to steal her purse, laugh evilly, and hide in one of the intersections of the hotel. When she walked into my trap and I confronted her, I didn't, I really, I—I didn't expect that somehow, in some way, we would end up kissing. And that I would feel like I'll burst from happiness.
"I met her again when I went to the townhouse after knowing she skipped her job. I realised she was sick, took care of her, and when she fell asleep, finally admitted to her that I didn't see her as a friend anymore. That I was seeing her as something else. I even kissed her in Penchant for Exes because she looked so damned kissable, and passed it off as wanting to shut her up. I was relieved she believed me."
My lips parted in surprise at the fresh information, tears threatening to well up again at how back then, I didn't have to worry about my mother's death. Back then, I didn't have to worry about Genesis.
"After that all I remember is I was so damned happy. I took her to my house and I finally told her that I like her. And I was so surprised when she said she liked me too. I mean, I had a feeling that she felt the same, but it's just different when it's said out loud. I . . . then took her to Macy's, the coffee shop where we first met, and that was when, that was when news of you hit. I'm sorry, Mrs. Lockheart, that I was never able to properly meet you before you left. I think that's going to be one of the regrets that I'll have until I die."
A teardrop rolled down my cheek, leaving a warm trail in its wake amidst the cold winds that the rain brought with it.
"And I'm sorry, Mrs. Lockheart," he said softly, his voice barely audible above the howls of the livid clouds, "that I had to let her go. You see, I want to give her all of me, but right now . . . right now I'm unable to. I want to be whole and complete when I start something with her, but I—I don't see that happening. Not now. And I'm sorry that I have to be selfish, that even if I can't give her what I want to give her, I still have to tell her what I need to tell her."
He then slowly shifted his gaze to me, those cyan skies and grey clouds coalescing in mesmerising swirls, almost as though they were a storm themselves, like the rain pouring down on us and the thunder clearing the silence. "I have to tell you, Mia Lockheart," he murmured, his fingers tenderly brushing my cheek, "that I'm incapable of loving you right now, even though I desperately want to, even though I probably already do. I want to tell you that you should chase your dreams instead of being with me, because I can't give you the happiness the fulfilment of your dreams can. And that maybe, just maybe, someday I can give you the happiness you deserve."
I opened my mouth to tell him that yes, he could give me the happiness I deserved. The happiness I wanted.
But Finn shook his head, willing me not to. "Don't, Mia. I can't." He then closed his eyes for one, two, three seconds, stood up, and offered his hand to me, which I took begrudgingly. He flashed me a smile, a short, sweet smile that made his eyes glint, before sadness crept in, took over, and made him say, "I'm sorry."
It was at this juncture that I decided to cut the tether that connected me to him. In the end, I realised that I was the only one holding on—that he'd long since let go.
So when he grabbed the umbrella he'd thrown away, rushed to the car in the battering rain, and let the car drive him away, I didn't, not once, make a move to stop him.
This time, it was real.
I had let go of him.
۩ ۩ ۩
When I boarded the plane on Saturday, a day after my mother's funeral, I had a clear resolve.
I wasn't going to start a new life in Birmingham. I wasn't going to use the writing programme to keep me from thinking about the man I loved, even though I deleted his number from my phone and threw away the disposable sim card that I used to call him. I wasn't going to forget about the life I had back in New York.
I was going to attend Karga's Creative Writing Programme—which runs for six months—and return to Queens, to the apartment of my mother which Leonardo bought for me in spite of my thousand words of refusal, and study in a nearby college with a degree in literature. If there was something I'd gotten from everything that happened in one month, it would be my desire to pursue my dreams of becoming a seasoned writer.
Right now, I was four hours in my flight in the business class, with the seat beside me obtained by a white-haired grandfather who did nothing but snore relentlessly, making me resort to plugging my headphones in and drowning the sound out. The positive side was I got the window seat, thus I was able to see the view from several kilometres above the earth.
Another bout of positivity that the clear sight of the leverage brought to me was inspiration. I was motivated to use my laptop, open Three F's of Love, and go to the very bottom of the document: the missing part of the ending of the story.
With a smile, I hovered my fingers over the keyboard and, recalling all that I went through this past month, began to type:
As I grow older I realise that there are many types of love. I've seen them in movies, read about them in books, and even experienced them in person. These types of love have distinctive results—some leave them happy, some are devastated, and some die regretting the way they loved. It's a universally accepted fact that if you love, you get hurt. Another fact—though not as universally accepted—is if you love, you, too, hurt.
The ineptitude to show one's true affections lest he get judged or because of the insecurities building up in his heart may lead to a type of love that is mind-boggling and most times, heart-shattering—scared love. Someone who loves like this soon gets eaten up by his own demons and finds that the one he loves has long since abandoned him.
Another type of love is averse to softness, thinking that the harsher they are, the more the people they love learn. Someone who loves like this believes that he's doing the person he loves a favour by not showing what he truly feels. This type of love is tough love. He who loves like this holds back from his feelings and lets the person he loves immerse herself in the assumption that he doesn't love her. This type of love may either end in a miracle—with the person he loves understanding him after many, many, many tears—or pure tears, with no understanding. Tough love is tough.
But the toughest of them all is the love that has no regrets—the love that is unconditional. This type of love understands that putting the person he loves before himself is how he loves—he understands the meaning of sacrifice.
Love requires great sacrifice. It would be giving your coat to the one you love on a wintry night. It would be letting your friend eat your French fries. It would be feeling constant concern over someone's well-being. It would be putting their happiness before yours, treasuring each and every moment as though it were the last, and telling them that you love them, every single chance that you have.
The proper way to love is to treasure each passing second as though there would be no more seconds left to pass after that. You wouldn't take the time you have with them for granted. You would realise you have not a way of knowing if that was to be the last time.
Humans are conceived into the universe for a limited time period and during the course of their lives they get to meet thousands of people, but only connect with a few. These few people, once they leave through choice, through circumstance, or through death, will shatter the hearts of the ones left behind.
So before that happens, make sure that you have no regrets. Make sure that you treat them the way your heart truly desires, the way you know is right. Make sure you laugh with them, tell them what you truly think, and love them with all that you have—no walls held, not afraid of misunderstandings, and caring unconditionally.
For it's the only way to love without regrets.
Because loving like that, so sincerely, so selflessly, so sacrificially—
—is how you fall in love.