Come What May

13. offer

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

OFFER

—

• thursday, april 1st •

Storm was right.

I do get sick.

It's isn't even a fever that leaves me chained to bed for two days after which I'm fine. This time, it's a cold that leaves me with a constant sniff, not for one, not for two, not even for three days. For four whole days and counting.

And even when I'm seated here in the coffee shop, bundled up in my hoodie, Storm's jacket and a t-shirt under the hoodie, my sniffs don't seem to be stopping.

"What the fuck did you even do?" Radhika mutters, jabbing me in my side. For some reason, she's sitting next to me instead of opposite, like she always does, but I can't complain if it offers me more warmth. "How did you manage to get so sick? And don't give me that pollen allergy bullshit, I know better than that."

Groaning, I slurp down my tea, hoping it'll calm my throat down, but of course, it doesn't, and I'm left with a throat that's more sore than it was before. "I went to the beach," I admit lowly, but I can't find it in myself to regret going, even though I'm currently sick.

Because that was one of the best mornings of my entire life. I've been to the beach multiple times before, for shoots, for fun with my parents, for fun by myself. But I've never felt the way I felt that night.

So insignificant, a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things, and not in a bad way, for once.

"By yourself?" Radhika whisper-shouts, taking a sip of her own coffee, about to reach over for my tea and drink some of it, but retracting her hand at the last second. "Why did you go by—"

"Not by myself." If I had gone by myself, I wouldn't have had half as much fun as I did that day. Four whole days ago. "With Storm."

Eyes widening, Radhika's head whips around to meet my eyes as she gasps. "Storm Renaldi?" she questions, as if it's the most inconceivable thing in the world. "How the fuck— ? Storm? As in rude-ass Storm who hates everyone?"

I don't know why, but that bothers me. Because even though Storm and I aren't friends (or are we?), I know them well enough to know that they're not rude. And they don't hate everyone.

Sure, they're permanently annoyed with everyone and everything in the world. But I've never heard them sound genuinely hateful while speaking to or about anyone, apart from their parents. But that seems like it's justified.

"They're not rude," I mumble as I reach over to place my freezing fingers on the heated mug of tea, that isn't that heated anymore, merely lukewarm. "They're really— okay, no, I wouldn't go that far. They're a normal amount of nice. Not rude."

Radhika hums. "Well, okay then," she says with a shrug, and that's the end of that. Then, eyes lighting up in excitement— I hadn't noticed that they'd dulled—, she asks, "How was the beach?"

"So, so pretty," I gush, placing my now lukewarm hands on my cheeks. "I don't know if it was prettier because it was four in the morning and there was no one around—"

"Four in the morning? Asif, what the fuck?"

"— But it was so pretty, Radhika," I finish softly, once I get a clear of a throat from the people in the next booth, whose glares let me know that they don't appreciate my loudness. "We should go sometime!"