I promise I don't hate red-heads- nor do I have anything against Ed Sheeren... I promise.

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Nova

I hop on one foot, forcing my other foot into a tight pair of shoes. My phone rings for the third time in 10-minutes.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," I mutter as I hop.

I let out a sigh of relief when my foot goes into the shoe and rush to get my phone.

"I'm coming!" I exclaim as I grab my keys and look for my wallet.

"You said that 30-minutes ago," Violet groans.

"I'm leaving my apartment right now," I console.

"Get your ass out here in the next 10-minutes, or I'm leaving," she warns.

"Okay, okay, okay," I say, locking my apartment and running to the elevator.

I make it out in time and give Violet a sweet smile as I enter her car.

"You're lucky I like you," she points her finger at me.

"So very lucky," I agree as I buckle my seatbelt.

She sighs before driving.

Violet is the worst driver to exist. I tightly hold on to the strap of my seatbelt as she swerves past cars.

Normally, music makes me calm and distracted, but I feel like paying attention to the music she's blasting instead of focusing on the road will end up making us crash.

Luckily the drive is short.

I quickly jump out of the car when she parks- making sure I'm stable on my legs.

The weather is cloudy with a breeze, and I'm wearing a polo long-sleeved button-up with some blue jeans.

Violet is wearing a sweater and some blue jeans.

We walk into the store and look through the racks.

The store is a basic thrift store: things on display everywhere and messy racks.

Violet and I catch up. Talking about work, her girlfriend, and if I plan on talking to the girl who gave me her number.

I like shopping with Violet since we have the same style.

"I don't understand why you won't just text the girl," she says.

"It's not that I don't want to," I shrug. "I just don't think I'm ready for a relationship."

"It wouldn't have to be a relationship," she says.

I look at her, "Things like that always turn into a relationship."

"Maybe by then, you would be ready for one."

I shake my head.

She looks at me, "Nova, you've been saying that for as long as I've known you."

I shrug, "I'm a woman of my word."

"Just tell her you don't want anything serious," Violet says. "If she understands, then take it slow."

"What if she doesn't understand?" I sigh.

"Then you delete her contact and move on." Violet shrugs.

I smile, "You've been in a good relationship for 3 years."

She meets my eyes, "So?"

I pull out a shirt and hold it up; she makes a face and shakes her head; I put it back on the rack.

"For you, saying "move on" is easy because you've forgotten the fear of rejection," I say.

"What makes you think I've ever been rejected?" She grins.

"Good point," I laugh. "But not all of us have that luck."

"What about relationships scares you so much?" she asks.

A lot of things. Mostly the dependency. I'm such an independent person, so having someone depend on me never works out.

I also never know how to act in a relationship.

I overthink everything.

What if I'm too clingy?

What if I'm too distant?

"I think I'm scared of getting attached and getting hurt," I answer.

"That's just part of it, though." She meets my eyes, "It's inevitable for that to happen, and you can't just avoid a relationship because you're scared of what comes with one."

"Why not?" I ask, "It's kept me happy so far."

"Because you're missing out on a lot."

She raises a shirt, I nod, and she puts it in the cart.

"I don't think I'm missing out on life because I'm not in a relationship," I say.

"But you are missing out on experiencing one."

"I don't think it's mandatory." I shrug.

"I'm not saying you have to be in one," she says. "I'm just saying that you shouldn't be scared to be in one."

"I know," I smile. "I guess I'm just waiting for the right person."

"How will you know who the right person is?" She asks. "You don't talk to anyone who gives you a chance."

I shrug with a smile, "I'll just know."

She shakes her head with a smile, "You are the dumbest bitch in Harvard."

I scoff, "That hurt!"

She smiles, "Just stating what I see, Love."

I roll my eyes.

We talk about smoothies after that. We have an educated debate on why banana strawberry is the best flavor.

Then we fall into a comfortable silence, just looking through the racks.

All of a sudden, she looks at me and asks, "Nova, have you ever been in love?"

I stop.

"Why?"

She shrugs. "I'm just wondering if you're talking through experience."

I think about it.

"In every way, but romantically," I answer.

She furrows her brows. "What do you mean?"

"I've loved people like friends, family, and as figures in my life, but I've never romantically loved someone."

She nods, "But you've dated people?"

"Yeah," I answer, "It just never goes that far."

"You mean you never let it go that far." She corrects.

"Maybe," I shrug, "Or they just weren't the right person."

She nods.

"What does being in love mean to you?" she asks after some time. "Romantically."

"Why are you suddenly curious about this?" I ask.

"I'm just trying to understand," she answers.

I have thought about this before. Late at night, when I'm having trouble falling asleep, I'll think about stuff like love.

I don't ever want to be in a relationship that feels like a relationship. I don't want it to feel like I have to live up to the label that comes with the person I'm with.

I don't want people to think- Nova Scott: so-and-so's girlfriend.

I want people to think of me and everything I have accomplished before they think of the person I'm with.

I want a friend. A person who sleeps on the left side of the bed since I always sleep on the right side- Someone who has the number of freckles on my face memorized.

What it means to love is a different thing.

I have been in relationships where I haven't fallen in love.

I think that being in love means that they replace every way you see the world.

Everywhere you look: you see a part of them.

If they have honey blonde hair- you start to compare every other person with honey blonde hair to see if it's identical or not.

When they tell you their favorite movie- a movie you know nothing about- every time someone brings up the movie, you smile because your person loves that movie.

"Being in love means turning your world into theirs," I start, "Every love song turns into one about them, every color that is the same as their eye color becomes your favorite color, every love story is nothing compared to yours."

Violet has a soft smile, "You've got it down pretty well for someone who's never even experienced it."

"Fine then," I smile, "Since you do know what it feels like, tell me what it means for you."

Her smile widens, "Being in love means being forced into a completely different world and having to like it."

That's what scares me.

"What if I don't like it?" I ask.

She shrugs, "Then you don't like it. Find another person."

I roll my eyes, "It's not that easy."

If it were that easy, I wouldn't be avoiding it.

I find a cute silk slip dress and hold it up.

Violet tilts her head, looking at it from a different angle, and nods. I set it in the cart.

We continue walking around the store, looking at the different pieces.

I love thrift stores that aren't well-organized. It's way easier to lose track of time and it's more of a surprise when you find something great.

Luckily, the thrift store we came to today has a very great inventory.

New York has the best thrift stores- I am willing to die on that hill.

We stop at another rack that's filled with colorful dresses.

"It's also not that complicated," she says, sifting through the clothes.

I furrow my brows, "Huh?"

"The relationship thing," she clarifies, "I think you make it out to be more complicated than it is."

That's the thing: I attract complicated things. I am a magnet for anything and everything that doesn't make sense.

In my last relationship, I ended up losing any hold I had on my mental health, falling prey to someone who was very manipulative and made me dependent on him for my happiness.

"Maybe," I say.

Violet was making me realize how many walls and guidelines I had built for myself.

We continue walking around the store, starting to gather random articles of clothing to try on just for fun.

Within 10-minutes, both of our carts are filled with articles of clothes we got as a joke or because we genuinely like them.

We laughed over one of the shirts Violet put in her cart that actually said, "Eat a bag of dicks."

We walk into the dressing room, walking past an old lady who looked asleep.

"You go first," Violet grins.

I groan. "Fine."

Walking into the dressing room that's only shielding me with a flimsy blue curtain.

The small space is empty aside from two hooks on the walls, a small bench, and two full-body mirrors.

Violet throws the first thing over the curtain rod. I catch it.

It's a white shirt that has a graphic design of some cartoon from the '90s.

I slip off the sweater I have on and put on the shirt. I slide open the curtain and walk out.

Violet studies me, jumps off the chair, and hands me a pair of baggy jeans.

I go back inside the dressing room and change into the jeans. Walking back out, violet circles her fingers in the air, telling me to spin.

I turn around, showing her every angle.

"The pants are a yes," she says, "The shirt is a no."

"Really?" I ask, "I thought it was cute."

I walk back inside the dressing room.

I look at myself in the mirror one last time, deciding I like the shirt before taking it off.

The next thing is a black slip dress that has silver stars printed on it.

I slide it on, not sure if I like the way my body looks.

I have no idea what my body looks like.

Sometimes, I love it. Other times, I think I'm disgusting.

The dress shows off a lot of skin, which makes me feel insecure today.

I walk outside after Violet yells at me to hurry up. When I step out, she looks me up and down, before grinning, "You look so fucking hot!"

I look at the dress. "I don't know," I say warily.

"It looks so good on you," she assures me.

I nod, walking back inside the dressing room.

She continues throwing me outfits, and I model them for her.

I feel like a little girl who's shopping at the mall with her mom.

When we switch places, I walk up to her cart and grab articles of clothes that I think would look good together. Violet got a better selection than me- she's better about sifting through the racks.

I throw her a purple silk dress and a black purse. She comes out five minutes later, with a smile, and struts around the space.

I cheer quietly for her as she walks.

I hand her a pair of glasses and take a picture of her.

We repeat the process. Our laughter probably would get us kicked out if the lady working at the store was awake.

When we finish, we put the clothes we don't want on a rack, and I start to walk towards the register when Violet gasps.

I turn towards her, wondering if she hurt herself or if she just saw an ugly skirt.

She's looking at me, a hanger in her hand that has a navy blue dress.

Her eyes are wide, a smile on her lips, "You have to try this on!"

"You can try it on." I shake my head. "it'll look better on you."

She makes a face, "Bullshit!"

I shake my head again. The dress is gorgeous, but I just know from looking at it that it would immediately make me feel insecure and I don't want to do that to myself today.

"It would look better on you," I argue.

She rolls her eyes and holds it against her body, "Nova, I'm too tall for it."

I scoffed. Violet was 5'9- making her only 3 inches taller than me.

She sighs dramatically, "Such a pretty dress."

I narrow my eyes at her.

"If only someone worthy would get it."

I blink, giving into her.

I'll buy the dress for her sake and just not wear it. I do that with other clothes too.

I take the dress from her hand, earning an innocent smile from her glossy lips.

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

Walking into the dressing room, I take off my sweater.

I watch the roll on my stomach form when I bend down to take off my jeans.

I know it's normal, but I can't help feeling disgusted with myself.

I have a tattoo on the side of my ribs. It's a tattoo of a simple constellation.

I got it last year when I went through a hard time.

My other tattoo is on the side of my hip. It's a simple butterfly.

I got it when I was drunk. Luckily, I don't regret it.

I got it in my second year of college. After my parents and I got into an argument.

I want more tattoos, but I never have the chance to put any time into it.

I slide on the dress, feeling the fabric whisper softly against my skin.

I look in the mirror. The dress falls mid-calf, the thin straps sit on my collar bones. The dress doesn't look bad, but it also doesn't look good.

My already non-existent curves look even more mellow. I make the fabric fit my waist differently, still not liking the way it looks.

Sighing, I walk out. Violet looks me up and down, tilting her head.

"See!" she says, "I told you it would look good. You have to get it."

I don't fight her, knowing she would push me more.

Plus, I like the dress too, I just don't like my body.

We go to check out, talking about how there's a new rooftop restaurant in the area.

She asks if I want to go, and I say yes. I have no other plans other than hanging out with her.

When we're done at the thrift store, we walk back to her car. A sleek red convertible.

I put my bags in the back seat, and she puts her bags in the trunk.

                                                                      * * * * * * * * * *

"No, I just don't understand why he thought he could take my pants, " Violet rants.

"Because you told him he could."

She shrugs, "No, I said he could have my pants."

I furrow my brows, "Exactly-?"

She shakes her head, "You don't get it. I meant he could have them as in he could hold them while I did my shoot."

"Well, you didn't tell him that," I say, sipping my water. "Plus, he was a random stranger you met at a bathroom inside of a CVS."

I never get soda at restaurants. It never tastes right.

She glared at me, "Is it wrong of me to expect chivalry from every man I meet?"

I laugh, "You're a lesbian- you should know that women are more chivalrous."

"Yes, I do know that!" she defends, "I just thought this man would be different."

"No man is different," I shake my head.

"You would know," she grins. "You get a boner for them."

Just as she says that a waiter comes to our table. I stifle a laugh as she confidently turns towards him.

"Hello there," she smiles. "Do you get a boner for men too?"

The waiter coughs.

Poor man. He just wants to do his job.

"N-n-no-?" he stutters.

"We would like our bill." I save him from a conversation with my crazy friend.

When he looks at me with a grateful look, nods fervently, and walks away, I have to have a conversation with Violet about why she can't ask strangers who they get boners for.

"But the waiter does get boners!" she says, as we walk back to her car.

"That still doesn't make it okay!"

"You know, " she says all of a sudden, slowing down her pace, "Sometimes, I think about how different we are, and how the way we think makes a large part of that."

I look at her, "Well isn't that what differs everyone?"

She nods, "But you and I just do everything differently."

I wait for her to explain.

"I could never be a lawyer, " she starts, "I would never get into Harvard."

I laugh, "Well I could never model or travel so much."

"That's the best part of it, " she smiles, "We are so different, but we still work."

"Yeah, " I agree.

I think everyone is different. That's what makes us human. That's also why I think finding people who you truly get along with is so rare.

It's easy to fake a connection, but it's so hard to actually find a connection.

I learned that too late in life.

I spent so long faking connections that I missed out on actually making them.

I guess I'm still missing out by being scared of relationships.

We get into Violet's car, driving to my place in comfortable silence.

I say goodbye to Violet, telling her to have fun on her work trip to Paris.

I walk back up to my apartment.

I felt odd. I hadn't realized how much I had closed myself off from life.

I lived in my own world, and I liked it, but I had gotten too scared to leave.

Maybe it was because of how safe I felt in my world.

I wanted to do something that would push me out of my comfort zone. Something that would take away the safe feeling in a minimal way.

So I walked into my kitchen, opened my junk drawer, and looked through it until I found the receipt.

My fingers shook as I typed in the number. I decided to text her instead of calling her since it was late, and I didn't want to seem weird.

Hey, this is Nova, the girl from the grocery store :)

I didn't know if she still remembered me.

Maybe she didn't, but I sent the message before I could overthink it.

I immediately turned off my phone, feeling the itch to check it as I got ready for bed but not letting myself.

I slid into bed, ready for sleep, and turned on my phone.

Hey! I didn't think you would text me.

Her message made my heart race. I didn't know what to say, so I said: well I did.

She responded quickly: I'm glad

I watched the three dots move, signaling that she was typing.

Are you free tomorrow?

Oh God.

My hands shook, but I reminded myself of what I was trying to do.

So, I said yes.

She asked me to get coffee with her, and I agreed.

I felt a rush of adrenaline.

A blend of anxiety, fear, and excitement.

I hadn't felt that kind of excitement in a while. I went to sleep feeling nervous excitement.

                                                                        * * * * * * * * * *

1 month later

"Nova, can you get me the hangers in the back?" Roma asks me.

Jumping off of the table I had been sitting on, I walked to the back of the store. I find the black velvet hangers in an open box and take them out.

Walking back out to the front, I hand them to her and help her put clothes on them.

Roma opened her boutique a few years ago. It's called Fleur. It does really well, getting lots of business.

The store is a small-sized space with raw brick walls, pretty displays, and a color theme of white, grey,