One last glance. That is all he wanted, his inner voice tried to convince him. Just, one last glance. But he knew all too well, that one last glance led to more thoughts of hope. He wanted to hope. He desperately wanted to hope.
The look on the guys’ faces said all he needed to hear. He had to be strong. He had to take it in stride. He had to bury hope.
This was never going to happen.
She laid her head against the coolness of the window. Her throbbing head seeking to sap all the cool from it. The throbbing had started again yesterday, anxiety had knocked and practically forced itself in. She wondered and hoped and silently prayed; then immediately wished she hadn’t uttered the words.
She had kept silent for a bit, enjoying the attention that they gave each other — attention that threatened to spill over into romance. There had seemed to be some semblance of hope. Hope for her. Hope for them.
Then she opened her mouth and a stern look baked in incredulity glared back at her from each of her trusted confidantes.
Am I mad, she whispered more to herself, than in prayer.
He reaches for his phone and scrolls through to find her. He hasn’t seen her in days. They said he should block all forms of communication with her and so he had. What they didn’t know is that he still scrolled through just to look at her. She looked good, without a care in the world.
He would end up the care, if he insisted with this.
It has just happened again — A half-day dance. Their half-day dance which successfully removed him from her archived chats. That first message he sent, left her so stunned that she involuntarily sat down. Long after she had gained her composure, the wistful smile never left her face. All throughout her commute they danced until the reality of the midnight hour began knocking.
They were found out.
Unhappy borderline insensitive responses filled up their inboxes. Confidantes and so-called friends expressing their disappointment. You will never stand a chance there. They were each told.
To have private insecurities is one thing; but to see a friend stare at you squarely in the face and then hear them unflinchingly articulate said insecurities, is the stuff that heartaches are made of.
There must be a reason everyone is so squarely set against us. They each thought to themselves in the bubbled cocoon that echoed their heart’s discontent. The dull ache began to throb again as she swiped to the right and chose archive all over again.
Ultimately, he would have to make a choice — to bear it all and damn the consequences.
Whilst many will not approve, frowning and stating his selfishness will lead to her demise — he needed to make the step or retreat into the wisp of a shadow that was quickly becoming their story. Now, in spite of the secret hope that laid buried in deep recesses of her heart, the truth was – the longer he took, the more uncertainty laid claim to her mind.
Yet, what did it all matter…
Eighteenth was practically knocking, whether they were ready or not – it would not longer be up to fate to help them decide. Uganda would have her chance to decide whether he was ready or not.
As is our custom: He is some Calvin bath time madness!