Chapter fifteen

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Three years ago

I want to tell her I admire her ambition and her drive to reach for something she believes to be unattainable. I want to tell her that, when she talks about science, her eyes light up like the night sky at twelve o'clock on January the first. I want to tell her I'm dying to uncover every hidden thought running in her head.

"There's something in your hair," I hoarsely mumble my desperate excuse to hide how I was unapologetically adoring her.

"Oh." She turns her head trying to locate whatever I proclaimed to have noticed.

"Here, let me get it." My fingers lightly brush through her thick, long locks, pretending to remove something that wasn't even there in the first place. Her big round eyes linger on mine and the gesture suddenly feels a lot more intimate than I intended it to be. I was trying to crawl out of the hole I was falling into, not let go to see how long it would take me to hit rock bottom.

Yet I can't stop my hand from slowly following her wavy hair downwards until it reaches the crook of her neck. My fingers are tangled up inside her locks and her irises are locked on mine as my thumb grazes the skin at the end of her jawline. Her eyelids blink heavily with every circle I draw and the nerves inside my finger top tingle by the touch.

Fucking hell, I want to kiss her.

She sharply inhales, drops her head, and leans back making me snatch my hand away from her. She clears her throat before she whispers, "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." I scratch the back of my neck as I turn my gaze away from her.

Well, fuck.

A few moments of silence pass and every second of it is filled with me cursing myself for creating this awkward moment.

There's something in your hair? Really? Are you really fucking kidding me?

Right when I want to apologize for my actions, her small voice speaks up. "Tell me something I don't know." I stare up at the night sky, slightly grinning as I try to focus on finding a response to her request instead of overthinking the fact she's still sitting next to me trying to continue our conversation.

"Did you know Cleopatra wasn't Egyptian?" I turn my gaze back to her, only to meet a surprised expression.

"She wasn't?" She asks for clarification as she quirks up one eyebrow.

I shake my head. "She was born in Egypt, but ethnically she was Greek. Her family origins in Macedonian Greece, when Alexander the Great was ruling." Egypt along with the Roman Empire piqued my interest the moment I came in touch with their history. The culture, the lifestyle, and all the stories, they've always captured me. I've let myself drown so deep in that world it doesn't surprise me that the facts effortlessly roll off my tongue, even if it's been a while since I've read about Cleopatra.

"Interesting." She hums deep in thought and when I turn my gaze towards her, her eyes are focused on the stars hanging above us.

I mimic her by resting my head on the chair to gawk at the dark painting covering the sky. "What?" My voice is quiet when I ask.

"I might be going too deep into this so stop me if I start talking nonsense." She warns me and before she even finishes her sentence I'm already shaking my head.

"I'm all here for nonsense. Talking shit is what I do all day, every day." The chuckles I receive from her by quoting her are like a soothing song you'd listen to on a Sunday morning. When the world is still asleep but you're trying to wake yourself by sipping on a cup of coffee whilst staring at the rising sun. It's peaceful and warm. It's a sound I could listen to all day. Perhaps I want to.

"I find it interesting how people make assumptions about a person based on their appearance or political status or whatsoever. Look at me," her hands gesture to herself, "Cleopatra dressed like an Egyptian and she was the queen of Egypt which made me believe she was Egyptian when actually, ethnically, she was from across the sea." Her breathy laugh is one of disbelief. "We do that so often, just making assumptions about anyone who crosses our path. We don't think about it, it just happens. It makes me wonder if our brain is wired to do that or if it defines us as a person." Her words rest between us as we both study the night lights like the answers are written between them.

"What do you think?" I break the silence, fighting the urge to avert my gaze to her.

Seconds pass us by and I envision her unknowingly nibbling on the left side of her bottom lip whilst reconsidering her thoughts. "I read somewhere once that the first assumption we make about someone is how society raised us. That our first thought isn't representing us as a person, but it represents how the world has molded our brain to think a certain way. That it's the way we react to that assumption that defines who we are."

A tiny smile creeps on my face. "I like that," I reply after going over her words a couple of times in my head to let them sink in. "That we're not just a product of the world around us. Or at least, I hope we're not."

"I like to think we're not." Her voice is a small whisper when she shares the tiny piece of the puzzle her mind is.

My head rolls over the edge of the chair to face her. "Do you have any assumptions about me?" She copies my movement as she hears my question.

"Total jerk." Even though the humor is dancing on her face causing a laugh to burst out of my throat, my heart can't help but beat in overdrive as fear is seeping through. What if there's a truth hidden in her words?

Before I can pull my mind any deeper into the whirl hole of overthinking she stops my train of thought. "No, I don't know," she shrugs.

Well, that doesn't sound promising.

"It sounds like I have a lot of assumptions to prove wrong." I smugly joke to push away the part of me that's yearning to know what she thinks of me.

"Who says you should want to prove them wrong." Her quick answer paints a smirk on my face as I lock eyes with her.

"Do I hear a compliment in that?" I raise my eyebrows at her, teasing her for the fact she managed to complement me a second time instead of tearing down my ego. Honestly, her attempts to bruise my ego actually feel like complements. Because whenever she shoots them at me, her beautiful eyes are radiating a joyful fire and her smile is shining like the sun on a hot summer day. Who wouldn't want to take a hit for that?

"Don't push it." She rolls her eyes averting her gaze back to the fire as she shakes her head.

"So Ari, tell me something else I don't know yet." I let the part of me that's yearning for another puzzle piece of her mind ask.

"I'm secretly chaotic." She hums after a while.

I throw a couple of nuts in my mouth as I wait for her to continue. Yet when she doesn't, I speak up. "Are you going to explain it or should I use my mindreading skills to crawl into that pretty little head of yours." Even in the dark of the night, I can see her cute full cheeks turn red because of the little light the flames are creating. I don't think I've ever been more grateful for a bonfire.

"What I mean is," she starts, "I have all these plans and as you said, schedules and color-coded notes and whatever I can do to give my life some structure because I'm secretly chaotic," she confesses. "All those things are just my attempt to fix the fact that I'm kind of a little messy."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"I'm actually not," she chortles. "I have to write everything down or I'll forget. And I have to organize everything or I'll just lose it. I just make it more fun by using colors and patterns, and believe me or not, it's oddly satisfying." She points her index finger at me as if to say I should try it too.

"So hypothetically," I blurt and an immediate wave of nervousness crashes down as I realize I have to finish the sentence that's playing in my head. "If I'd ask you to go to the movies with me on Saturday at, let's say 7. And, hypothetically, if I'm lucky, you say yes. You'd totally forget if you don't write it down?" My heart is beating out of my chest and my eyes are pinned on her trying to decipher her reaction.

Why is asking someone out so fucking nerve-wracking? Holy shit.

"Hypothetically, I might." Maybe it's me, but everything suddenly sounds a lot quieter. Like the whole world is watching, listening to how, no doubt, fucking awkward I sound.

"So, would you write it down?" Thank god my voice didn't crack because that would've made this a whole lot less smooth.

"Colin." The sigh forming my name knots my stomach and I start babbling before a further rejection can fall off her lips.

"It doesn't have to mean anything. We can be- uhm- we can be friends. Friends go to the movies together." I pause trying to interpret her reaction, yet before she can respond I continue. "Or not. That's fine too. I mean- You know what, think about it. I'm going to grab a drink. You want something too?"

Fucking hell.

Smooth, Colin. Very fucking smooth. Smoother than a voice crack, no doubt.

"Yeah, sure. Surprise me." With every step I take, I mentally facepalm myself.

I open the fridge and grab the first bottle that touches my hand.

Maybe she didn't mean to say my name in a way that introduced a big fat no. Fuck. Why did I have to start babbling like I was trying to talk myself out of a shitty presentation?

Because she most definitely said my name like it meant a big fat no. That's why.

The sound of the sash window sliding open draws my attention and I spin around to meet her soft smile. "What are you doing? If you want your drink to be a surprise I advise you to shuffle back outside."

She tugs a few strands of hair behind her ear. "I, uhm," she hums biting her lip. "I have to write something down in my agenda." I open my mouth to say something, yet close it again pressing my lips together in an attempt to tame the gigantic smile tugging on the corners of my mouth.

"I advise you to not shuffle back outside and continue with whatever you were going to do." Her chuckles fill my chest with excitement.

I know it shouldn't yet I can't help it. I can't help the smile from showing and my heart from beating faster when I see her matching my grin.

However, when she strolls away to find her agenda, I try to pull my own feet back to the ground. I have to keep reminding myself that she doesn't want the same thing. That she can't because of Lucie. Even though I talked to her a couple of days ago and put an end to everything that was still going on, an ex is still an ex and I can't change that.

No matter how badly I want to ignore that label and the restrictions that come with it, I can't so as she scribbles down a note I snap myself back to reality.

She only said yes because of the part where I declared we could go as friends.

She only said yes because friends go to the movies too.

She only said yes because-

Fucking hell, I don't care.

She said yes and that's all I care about.


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