Plucking the petals of the rose he bought me confirmed that I love him. Or is it because I started off with "I Love Him"? But then again, why was I plucking the petals of the rose he gave me? Why did I accept it in the first place?
After I dumped my boyfriend and maybe got rejected once or twice, I told myself not to believe in love again. But he somehow still managed to sweep me of my feet. Or at least that's what they say.
I wasn't head over heels about him, but I definitely cared for him. And I'm sure he cared for me, too. I remember how we called each other names and end up not talking to each other the rest of the day; I remember how he would push me on the swing when I demanded to go higher; I remember how we could find fun in just running around in the porch; I remember how he borrowed his shoulder for me to lean on when I cried; I remember how I would react after he explained the solution to an algebra question. I was dumb; I was mischievous; I was a brat. Yet, he cared for me.
Things were so simple then. We were innocent, vulnerable......naive. But when puberty hit, we both realised that we're not of the same species. Things changed, but we were still close friends.
When I started dating guys, things got even worse. We stopped talking, stopped sitting together during lunch and even stopped acknowledging each other's existence. I don't know why, it just happened. And then I realised it was the cupid's dirty job when I found out he was secretly in love with me. It was because of the innocent four-letter word -- love.
After learning the truth, I decided to completely isolate myself from him. I made sure that I wasn't in the same bus as he is; I made every arrangement I could to make sure he wasn't in the same class as I am; I would avoid the hallway if he was there. I made every effort I could to disappear from his life. He is my best friend. He was my best friend. I couldn't love him that way. I didn't want to love him that way! I never did believe in childhood sweethearts.
Rumours spread that he was dating a freshman when we were sophomores. I was glad. Happy that he found someone who loves him back that way too; happy that I need not break his heart.
Everything was perfectly fine after that. We both somehow moved on to more mature conversations and no-nonsense jokes. Yes, it took me a whole lot of courage to face him and since then, we were buds again. Definitely no more mischievous antics, childish tantrums and pulling pranks on our not-so-favourite teacher. Things were undeniably more careful.
I still borrowed his shoulder once or twice; we still talk on the phone occasionally till late at night until someone dozes off first; he was still the more intellectual one and I was still the more rebellious one. Sometimes I wonder how did I end up being his best friend. We were total opposites, yet, the bestest mates one could ever imagine.
I guess he never did got over me. When I committed myself to my first relationship, he wasn't at all pleased. He didn't like the idea of me having two favourite guys. He wanted to be my one and only favourite guy. It only took me two seconds to realise that he was still in love with me.
God only knows why I broke up with my boyfriend to be with him. I wasn't in love with him at all. I knew I wasn't in love with him at all! But I felt oblige to feel so, we went through so much thick and thin!
The wind blew away the petals that were scattered on the table. I was still holding the stem. I held it to my heart. I let my heartbeat slow. Listening to the rhythm my heart beating, my breathing slowed eventually.
My conscience and I both agreed that he wasn't the one.
I went to my room, picked up the phone and dialled his number.
This is going to be a long night.
-End-
JOANNA
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