Layla had been young when she'd bumped into a senior at her school and spilled all of her orange juice at the senior. She was only a freshman about to enter her sophomore year when the incident happened, on a scary about-to-passout-from-highschool senior too.
Last time when she had been so klutzy, she'd got nearly slapped.
But ofcourse, because this was her and she never paid attention to where her feet were leading her, she always nearly crashed five times a day.
This senior, with her short bob cut and a tall, tall figure had towered over Layla easily, and Layla wondered whether their collision had impaired her vision, for this could be in no way a student.
The senior in front of her wore sombre clothes of dull blue paired with duller pants. She had her spectacles fixed under the shadow of heavy eyebrows. Her eyes deadened with the dire need of sleep. What wasn't common was her reception of Layla; she gave her a sort of a weak wave, a soft smile and trudged on as though the weight of the world had slowed her footstep, all the bounce dried up in the gravity of things surrounding their nature.
The moment between the person behind her pushed her roughly and she stepped into the symbol of regeneration, the pool of sunlight washing upon every feature in view, Layla had felt a certain tug.
A tug which might have meant that spring hadn't brought everyone hope and happiness.
***
YOU ARE READING
Sorry, I Couldn't Love You
Teen FictionLayla met someone early in her life, someone she would really miss if they weren't with her until right until her old-age. However, along the way, she had to make a choice: do what you want and lose everything, or have everything you want and make a...
