Our Story


“I’m sorry for being a bitch.” I mumbled into his chest.

“Don’t mention it.” He said gruffly. “And I mean, don’t mention it.”

I couldn’t help but giggled. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

He lifted up my chin and stared into my eyes. “Not that I object; but why the sudden change of heart?”

I paused for a moment, considering my choice of words. “I’m tired of running away from you.” I admitted quietly, diverting my gaze from his intent eyes.

He searched my face. “But why, Darling, would you run away from me?”

“Because you made me feel things I didn’t want to feel – yet. Romance wasn’t really my thing; if you know what I mean.”

“And what exactly I made you feel?” He was about to crack a smile, but knowing me well, decided to be wise and held back the stupid grin.

I shot him a dirty look. “Do I really need to answer that question?”

“Well, yeah, of course. People ask questions to get answers, don’t they?”

I slapped his chest. “I pass.”

He looked at me in horror. “But that’s considered cheating.”

“Hell, no.”

“Hell, yes.”

“Okay,” I sighed, “Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Grumpy.”

“I know I am.” He beamed boyishly.

After a second, I replied. “You made me happy. Wrong – you make me happy. I don’t know what it is about you that keeps me feel this way. I mean, I’ve had other crushes too, but with you – it’s different. I can’t go on a day without thinking of you. Whenever you’re away, I count the days until I can see you again. When I do things, a little part of me wishes you were also there because your mere presence can make my whole full day. I’ve been missing you – a lot.” I stopped. “And I cannot explain that. And it scares me, because I was always this kind of independent woman.”

He let out a breath. “Wow, that sounds a bit creepy, don’t you think?”

I hit his arm. “Now I regret I told you.” I turned my back at him, only to have him grabbed my waist and turned me again so we faced each other.

“I was only joking,” He murmured while caressed my cheek. “Let’s just leave the part where you mentioned those ‘other crushes of you’, okay?”

I raised a brow. “Possessive already, huh? Well, that escalated quickly.”

He grunted. “Everything escalates quickly when it concerns you.” I giggled.

“When I first met you,” he began, pulling me into his arms, “I saw you laughing and giggling and all. You were so free, so happy, and so beautiful. And it made me wondered; would I be able to make you laugh like that? Would I be able to make you so happy that I would also be happy simply by seeing you smile? And right at the moment, I knew that I wanted to be that one guy who makes you smile every single day for the rest of your life.” I could feel him smiling and that made me smile, too.

“Geez, Babe, if I hadn’t known you better, I would’ve thought you have an inner desire to be a jester.”

“That was corny, Babe.” He sounded amused.

“When I first met you,” I replied, “I never thought you would be interested in me, let alone liked me. I mean, I’m not even your type and you’re not even my type, but, well, things happened, and here we are. I even thought what we had was only platonic love, but in the end, it feels better this way.”

He tilted his head. “Oh, so I’m not your type, am I?”

I stared back at him. “Am I even your type?”

The stupid prick had the guts pretending to consider my question. “Hmm, well… I guess you’re not. But you know what? This – you and I, us – feels perfect to me. Maybe I had the wrong type back then.” He pecked the tip of my nose.

“The feeling’s mutual.” I smiled.

We spent some moments just like that, holding each other in silence. The fact that we were on a sideway in the middle of the night didn’t seem to bother us very much. After what felt like an eternity, we let go of each other, and started walking home, hand in hand.

“How does the story end?”

“What story?” I questioned.

“The story you’ve been writing currently, ‘An Unfinished Tale of A Little Girl’.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

“Well, it ends well.” I smiled.

“Did they find each other?”

“Yup, they did – eventually. In the end, everyone’s happy; but isn’t it how every story supposed to end? Happily?”

“Yes. Yes, I guess. We cannot let the children down, can we?”

I smiled again. “You’re right. We can’t.”

He pulled me into his embrace as we were walking. “So will our story; it will end happily.”

“Ha. That’s where you’re wrong, Babe. Our story will not end happily, because our story will never end. Life isn’t as simple as storybooks, where everything begins at page one and ends at page something. In real life, there will always be one chapter after another. Some chapter may end happily, while other doesn’t. But it doesn’t matter, as long as I have you by my side in every chapter.”

He chuckled. “I love that you really have your way with words. As a writer, you’re not bad, Sweetheart.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.”

And so we were walking down the street, side by side, hand in hand. We had spent some chapters in our life separately – two protagonists in a book called life, and then somewhere in the middle, our paths met, and suddenly it felt just right to walk the path together. We might spend some chapters in good, and we might spend some in bad, because that’s how life was. One thing for sure, we would have each other in each of following chapter, and that was the one thing which would keep us going.

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