My carry-on bag swung with every step I took as I had my purse on my other arm, maneuvering my way through the boarding terminal. There were many similar people showing the same expression that I held – excited and anxious at the same time.

Don't get me wrong, I really was happy and thankful that my parents gave me the go signal to leave the country and attend university in the UK. My uncle, who was a professor there, recommended it to me and after months of waiting, I finally got the letter of acceptance.

A few squeals and celebrations later, they quickly realized that it meant that had to move far away from them. It wasn't like the other kids in our neighborhood who went to colleges in other states, I was going to a whole different continent.

Although, they showed their faith in me and I'm determined not to let them down.

A flight steward gave me smile as he examined my ticket before directing me to my seat. I heaved my bag into the overhead cabin before easily slipping into my seat.

This was going to be a long flight.

Few minutes passed by and a boy also came down the aisle, placing his carry-on inside the overhead cabin directly above the lane I was sitting on. Checking his place ticket and the little sign that showed the seat number, he bent down and sat on the space next to me.

What I always disliked about flying alone was having to put up with the awkward silence or small talk with the stranger beside me for hours.

"Hello," he greeted, his voice thick with an accent. He was English for sure, but I couldn't identify which part of England he was from.

"Hi," I greeted politely, looking back down on my lap.

I saw him stick out his hand and offered me a smile, "I'm Adam, you are?"

"Sienna," I said, gently reaching out to shake his hand, "Nice to meet you."

"Like the city?" he asked, finding my mundane name interesting.

Nodding, I spoke, "The spelling is a bit different and I'm probably far from the beauty it has."

"I don't think that," he chuckled, fastening his seatbelt, "I mean, I'm going to need good seatmate for the next eleven hours."

Well, he was going to be gravely disappointed.

Soon enough, the protocols for taking off were done. The seatbelt sign, the captain's voice sounding through the speakers, a flight steward roaming around to make sure everything was alright, the safety video, and everything else.

We were in the air after a few minutes and the moment that we were given the heads up that we were free to do anything that we desired, I reached down to my huge purse. Not because I thought that carry-on bag above me wasn't going to do a good job, but because I kept my trusty laptop in there.

Pulling out the device, I turned it on and placed it on the table tray, grabbing my headphones and plugging it in. I opened the folder where all of my writings were saved in, clicking on the file that had my recent unfinished book.

"What's that?" Adam asked when he saw the screen.

I groaned because although I had nothing playing, couldn't people understand that when I put my headphones on, it meant I wanted the world to turn off?

But of course, I can't take out all of my frustrations on this poor boy, "Stories."

He looked at the device once again while chose a playlist and settled myself in, my fingers hovering over the keys.

Seconds or minutes, time passed by.

And just like what I was afraid of, the words refused to come to me. I sat there motionless as my eyes stared at the blinking cursor. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't find it in myself to write, my thoughts and ideas didn't come out.

With being one of the youngest authors under my publisher, I started producing books at the age of sixteen. This got me praised by my teachers in high school and got me dubbed as one of the talented kids in my grade. After I graduated, I took a year off from studying to concentrate on my work.

But in the end, I was left idle. The amount of unfinished books that were saved in this laptop was too high. I dread that I might have lost it – the spark of writing.

My parents noticed the slump I was in and suggested that I should go somewhere else to fuel my so-called creative juices. Although I wasn't really keen on travelling, my uncle called up my parents and told them that he will gladly take me under his wing in university.

And after such a long period of contemplation, I finally agreed.

A playful melody sounded in my ears as the song I have chosen played in the background.

This was not simply writer's block, I believe that this was more than that.

When you have failed to produce a decent piece of literature for almost a year, it was a big problem especially when your publisher, parents, and readers are counting on you.

With my mom playing as my literary agent and my editor looking at me as if I'm some baby, I needed to pick myself up as soon as possible.

But there was this roadblock that I couldn't pass through.

"Sienna?" I heard Adam call my attention and I quickly removed the headphones to turn to him, "Are you alright?"

Nodding gently, I paused the music and sighed, "Just thinking."

"Can I read that?" he questioned and I hummed, making the laptop face him. I could see his eyes running over the words, the puny amount of pages didn't take long for him to finish and I just sat there, waiting in agony.

I've been working on this book for almost a year and I've only managed to successfully complete five chapters. I've tried, I really did, but sometimes after I've written about two thousand words, I'd be left unsatisfied with the chapter and proceed to delete it.

"Looks interesting," he commented, "I'm sure it would be great when you finish it."

"I can't finish it!" I unintentionally raised my voice. He paused for a moment and I gasped, covering my mouth as I sent apologetic looks to the other passengers who got bothered by my sudden outburst, "Sorry."

Taking a deep breath, I explained gently, "I can't and I couldn't. I've tried so many times to, but I think I'm losing my passion for writing."

I crave for that joy again. How come I've forgotten what it was like to finish chapters upon chapters in one sitting. It came to the point that my mom had to literally pull me away from my laptop because I couldn't stop.

"You sound exactly like my best friend," he told me, "Although it wasn't writing, it was singing and acting."

"Let me guess, you were in Hollywood to visit him," I assumed, "Must be famous."

"Her," he corrected, "And you have no idea."

Leaning against the arm rest, I raised a brow, "Is it going to turn in those 'falling in love with my best friend' cliché?"

A fleeting expression that I couldn't identify passed his face. He looked down and shook his head, "It almost did, but I broke her heart."

"Didn't like her as much as she liked you," I concluded but once again, he rejected the idea.

"I love her actually," he stated without a hint of hesitation that I was physically taken aback, "But she's in her own big world now and she deserves someone who can follow through with it, not some guy who will leave her because he lives a whole different life."

I blinked at him for a few seconds because sitting beside me was a very rare kind of person.

What a wonderful selfless man. From that small sentence alone, I could conclude he was already miles better than me. It was easy to say that you just want the person you love to be happy, but coming from experience, it was a lot harder to actually apply.

A part of me wanted to scream hallelujah because right next to me was the boy who probably held my next book. I could make him tell me what happened, how it happened, and why after all that, he managed to smile.

Yet I had to respect that it wasn't my story to tell, it was his.

But of course, the girl also had another point of view. For her, her love for her best friend wasn't reciprocated, it was left one-sided and she had no choice but to move on.

"She's happy now," he smiled, looking genuinely glad for her, "I let her be with a good guy, someone from her world and I know she'll be well taken care of."

They say that when you give up on love, you're a coward. Not me, when one gives up on love for a reason, they're brave for finding the strength to let go. Don't let yourself be ruled over by these emotions and dive head first into it – because there's a thing called sacrifice and you will get hurt.

"So about the book..." he trailed off to change the subject. My shoulder slumped and I leaned back against my chair.

"My last book was way easier to write," I scoffed, once again glancing at the screen, "It was based on a guy that had all of me. I was an idiot back then and probably still am."

He wasn't the first ever guy who held my attention. I'm one of those ironic romance writers who has never felt the will to love at the same degree their made up characters did. First official boyfriend – that was a more appropriate title.

We played with each other's heartstrings like a crazy guitarist. An on-and-off relationship filled with senseless fights and happy make ups has never ended well, but when it finished for real, it sparked a new idea. It was printed into words and was distributed for the world to read.

Nobody knew it was real though, because the way I twisted it showed how senseless and blind one becomes when someone falls in love. You'd think it was full of roses and chocolates, but you'll realize soon enough that roses have thorns and chocolate, in its purest form, is bitter.

"Then how about this," he said, leaning over to open a new blank file, "Start again and this time, write like how you did in the past."

"Impossible," I objected, "The memories are already dead inside my head."

"Wasn't there a famous saying?" he mentioned, "When a writer falls in love with you, you will never die."

But I have never fallen in love again since that stupid day.

When I didn't move, it signaled that he still failed to motivate me. He was stubborn though, because he continued to try, "Alright, how about write life as it happens?"

"And start the chapters with dear diary?" I scoffed, crossing my arms in front of my chest, "Not my thing."

Though it was laughable, he had pure intents. And maybe, his idea wasn't really that bad.

Tilting my head to the side, I reached out and started tapping on the keys, typing down the title of a new adventure in bold letters.

Untitled.

"What?" Adam questioned.

"Temporary," I told him, "I'll think of one soon."

And maybe I'll follow his advice. Write just like I did before – do it from real life experiences. Sprinkle it with a bit of glitter and a ton sequins to make it more interesting then have it printed for the world to see.

To be honest, I haven't lived life the way I wanted to since I graduated. The world around me moved on, while I remained where I was. If you knew, you would realize that I was the opposite of remaining still. I was the type of person to run and never look back.

Maybe all this time, it wasn't a novel that my mind wanted to create.

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Alright guys, we're going to do a take 2 of this book. I'm a bit rusty, mind you, but I would be updating twice a week (Wednesday and Saturday) until the tenth chapter and then we're moving on to weekly updates (Saturday only).

If you've read this before then you will realize that the changes are really subtle but they really make a big difference towards the ending I planned. So sit back and relax, because I'm taking you guys on another rollercoaster ride.

Vote, comment, and please follow if you liked the chapter. I'll see you guys on the next one!