The Wrong Right One!

Emma Carlyle

24 August, 2015

The train is about to leave the station. He's leaving in the train. He's mad at me but I know that he still loves me. I don't want to miss him. Perhaps I shouldn't have told him the truth, I shouldn't have talked about the past. I feel like I've broken his trust and his dreams. I don't want to lose him. I'll stop him , whatever it takes. I'm breathless yet I'm running as fast as I can. And I wake up. For a moment I relive the dream. I think about how mad it was and how damaging it could become if I tell him the truth of what happened a decade ago. 

24 August, 2005

"Emma, wake up", shouts my mother knocking the door of my bedroom. I know she is going to enter the room after three knocks. Privacy matters a lot for any teenager and I'm glad my parents respect mine. Teenager. My brain went through a rollercoaster wave of realization about today and I open my eyes. 

My mother stands near my bed ,smiles wide at me and says ,"Happy Birthday, Darling. I can't believe you are SIXTEEN". She's right. It's my birthday today and neither can I believe that I'm sixteen years old. I smile back at her and say, "Thank you , Mumma. I love you". She quickly opens the curtains in my room and the sun rays falls on my fish tank as I watch my goldfish move inside it. It's 6 AM. My mother probably doesn't know that I slept only at 3 AM after narrating a book to my bestfriend through SMS. I search for my mobile to check her reply and also to check other birthday wishes. There's a long list of messages. While I was thanking everyone who sent their wishes, I see a weird message from an unknown person. 

PRIVATE NUMBER

Hey, Beautiful. Happy Birthday to you. I wanted to tell this to you on your birthday, I'm crazy about you. I'm your secret yet the biggest admirer.

Now that's weird. I am quite popular , yes. But who is this secret admirer. Is it any birthday prank that my friends are trying to pull or is it really a guy. Should I reply and ask who this is or should I ignore. All that my brain could think of for the next hour is this message. I look myself at the mirror. I'm wearing a Lilac dress that my mother gifted for the birthday and my hair is lose. Though I like to look nice every day, I want to look special on my birthday. I pack my bag and take my phone. Again, my thoughts go back to the message. 

EMMA CARLYLE

Thanks. May I know who is this ?

I replied. What harm could possibly happen from knowing who sent the message. I slip my phone into my bag and head out to the school. My father drops me at the entrance and kisses me good bye. 

All eyes on me as I walk inside the school. There's Damon Priestley, the most popular guy in school. He's tall , has dark hair , grey eyes and plays basketball. Most of the girls in the school go to the court just to watch him play. He has a small dimple on one cheek and every girl in the campus takes a breath every time he smiles after a goal.  I like him too but I pretend I don't. He's staring at me for a long time and gives that damn smile. He's walking towards me. I feel like I want to walk faster and not look at him. But unintentionally, I'm waiting for him , looking straight into his eyes and god, I'm smiling at him. I realize every other girl and boy in the place are looking at us with excitement. Some are jealous, but who cares. Damon is near me and he says, "Hey , Beautiful. Happy Birthday to you!". I say , "Thanks, Damon" , with my shy smile and I walk away from him. 

As I walk , his voice reverberates in my brain. "HEY, BEAUTIFUL. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU".  I suddenly think about the message I received in the morning. Was it similar? I quickly take my phone from my bag and open my inbox. I re-read the message and realize that they are the same words. I stop and turn back to look at Damon in ultimate surprise , and he's still looking at me smiling. 

WAS THAT MESSAGE SENT BY DAMON , THE MOST POPULAR, HANDSOME GUY IN THE SCHOOL? My inner voice shouts at the highest pitch it could and I couldn't contain my excitement. I turn back and walk to my classroom.