When I completely wake up, I quickly realize that I'm still in Atlanta and it doesn't take long for the memories to slam into me. Good thing I've been left alone in the bedroom because I've got no clue what my face is doing right now. Somewhere between grimacing and smiling and probably blushing. Never mind the few giggles that manage to escape through my throat.
Yesterday. Our hours-long conversation last night. The dream.
My heart stops.
The dream.
Was any of it real? Did I...oh no. Did I cozy up with Ezra in the middle of the night?
Mortification drills through my body at the thought. Despite the borderline interrogation about my love life, I know he doesn't actually see himself with me. Not when he could get any girl he wants.
We did talk about his past girlfriends last night and that conversation felt like it stretched out an eternity. Four different girlfriends since freshman year. Four. I'm not sure why, but that intimidates me. A lot. And there's no way he would want me of all people.
If we did end up...cuddling, I can only hope that he was also asleep and forgot that it even happened. Though, I have to admit, I didn't mind being wrapped up in those strong, large–
"Rise and shine," my dad's sarcastic tone greets me as he steps into the bedroom. "I know it's a weekend, but you're up bright and late."
I sit up, wiping the exhaustion–and memories–out of my eyes. "What time is it?"
"Ten."
My eyes widen before I remember: time zones. "That's only seven in Washington."
"I gave you the Washington time."
Again, my eyes go wide. I really underestimated how late I stayed up with Ezra last night. "Oh."
He scans the floor of the room, his eyebrows slightly raising. "Thank you for packing all your stuff up already. Do you want to come with us to lunch?"
Packing all my stuff up?
Last I checked, my clothes were stacked on top of my suitcase and the belongings in my carry-on were all over the room, but one glance tells me that my dad is right.
Ezra must've done that while I was asleep.
"I think I'll just stay here," I say, sitting up. "Can you bring me back something, though?"
Dad nods. "Text me an order. Love you."
"I love you too," I reply as he closes the door.
After looking around the room, I spot my phone at the foot of the bed. I pick it up and turn it on, being greeted with dozens of messages.
Most of them from the group chat from last night.
Losers
Linh Chau: [IMG.8920] [IMG.7643] [MP3.432]
Linh Chau: Indi...I thought youd probably want to know that these are out there
I click the unloaded files–two photos and a video–and wait for them to process. My breath catches in my throat when I see them.
The video isn't that bad. It captures the minor grimace on my dad's face as he signed that guy's shoes at the diner. But the photos? Much worse.
Someone found our AirBnB.
One of the pictures is of me, Dad, and Ezra walking up the driveway after the game. The other picture is from the street behind the backyard. I'm sitting next to Ezra on the ledge of the pool. And the smile on my face...it's a little too bright for comfort, though that's not what I'm focused on.
Someone found our AirBnB.
I throw my blanket off of me and stumble out of bed, into the living room. Only to find it vacant. Everyone has already left.
My heart rate quickens and I almost topple over.
Someone could be watching me right now.
With shivering hands, I redirect my attention back to my phone and call the group chat.
Almost instantly, Kiara answers. "Indi!"
"Hey, Kiara," my voice shakes. "I, uh, I saw the photos."
The line is silent for a moment. "Are you okay?"
There's something about Kiara that makes unleashing emotions so easy for me, even if we aren't the closest. "Um, not really." I let out a humorless laugh. "I'm alone right now."
"Okay, okay," she says. "Make sure the doors are locked first, alright?"
"Right," I exhale. My legs tremble as I slowly make my way towards the front door and Kiara speaks as I make my way around the house to do the rest.
She tells me about the church that she goes to and I'm not sure if it's what she's talking about or just the fact that she's talking, but it works to soothe me.
Once all the locks are secure, I expel a deep sigh. "I'm sorry for freaking out."
"It's fine," Kiara reassures me. "Call if–"
"Hello?" Linh's voice cuts over the line. "Indi, why have you been ignoring our texts?"
"I haven't," I reply, sitting down on the couch in the living room. "I didn't see the notifications until just now."
Linh hums an answer. "We saw the picture of you and Ezra."
Frustration slowly claws its way around me. "It's not like that, okay? And since him and I are sort of becoming friends, I need you guys to stop thinking it is. I don't want to make him uncomfortable."
The call is silent before Raina joins, instantly squealing. "Indi! You and Ez–"
"Raina," Kiara cuts her off. "Now isn't...the time."
"Oh." More silence.
"Yeah," Kiara awkwardly adds. "And we need to respect Indi's boundaries. If she doesn't want us talking about her and Ezra as if they're together, we can't be."
A smile spreads across my lips. "I'm not mad or anything," I sort of lie. "Let's just...not."
"Of course," Raina replies. "We didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, it's just..."
Her voice drowns out when I get a new text notification. The number is unrecognizable, causing me to kick back into fight or flight.
Unknown: Did you see the photos?
I blankly stare at my screen, unmoving.
When a new notification comes through, I almost jump out of the seat from being so startled.
Unknown: It's Ezra btw, I have your number from the project in freshman year
Relief washes over me in rushing waves, only to be replaced with a new kind of stress. What do I say back to him?
"Um, I gotta go, guys," I say abruptly. "Catch up when I get back? Love you, bye."
I hang up before any of them can get a word in, then stare at the notification center on my phone.
Eventually, I find a response.
Me: Yes, I saw the photos.
Not my best efforts, I admit, but I don't want to appear too enthusiastic. It's not like last night was anything important. Just a passing of time.
Even though it felt like he understood me more than anyone I've ever known.
I wipe the thought away before grabbing a nearby magazine. It's from Time with the only headline being Diana, Princess of Wales 1961-1997. The main photo is a picture of the Princess smiling.
The things Princess Diana has gone through have always fascinated me–and enraged me on her behalf. That's why I waste no time opening the magazine up and listening to her life story yet again.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Ezra enters the bedroom, already grinning as he walks through the doorway.
Before he got back, I texted him, asking if he would braid my hair for the flight. To which he agreed. Which is why I'm here, on the bed, trying not to smile too hard.
"So, what style are you thinking?" he asks, moving to sit behind me. I'm assuming he's crossing his legs since his knees wind up lightly resting against my back.
"Probably just french braids," I say. "I don't want my hair to get all static-y."
Truth is, all I have to do is put my hair into a bun if I'm really trying to avoid it, but there's something about this trip that has me acting very unlike myself.
"Alright." Ezra picks up the brush at my side and starts running it through my hair.
I grab my phone from my lap and open Spotify. The music will hopefully save the air from any potential awkward tension, but maybe it'll also help me to not be so self-conscious about those stupid split ends. They're so insignificant, but for some reason, knowing that my hair has that minor mishap, irks me in a way I can't explain.
The English version of Cupid by FIFTY FIFTY is the first song to play from my shuffled playlist. I try my hardest to focus on the cute music and not the way that Ezra's fingers are now brushing against my hairline.
"You have really thick hair," he says as I feel strands tighten, presumably into a braid. "My mom would have– she would think it's pretty."
"It's an absolute pain," I reply with an exasperated tone. "I'm not sure how my arms aren't toned yet. Every morning, it feels like a workout just to put it up."
He lets out a quiet laugh before we lapse back into silence–the only sound being the music playing from my phone. It doesn't feel awkward, though. In fact, I feel more peaceful than I have all afternoon.
Once he's done with one side, he throws the braid over the front of shoulder. I reach up to run my hands along said braid and accidentally brush fingers along his. My face heats as I grimace and try not to apologize.
No need in pointing it out.
The mattress dips as he presumably shifts behind me before continuing.
It doesn't take long for him to finish the other side as well. The braids are a nice mix of tight enough, but also comfortable.
He'd be an amazing girl-dad.
The mattress lifts when he gets up to leave the room. Before he reaches the door, he stops and turns around. "If they need any fixing before we leave just let me know. I'll be in the living room with the rest of the guys."
"Thank you."
He grins before grabbing the doorknob behind him. "Of course."