The Opposite Of Negation | Editing Slowly

30 | ≠ beginning

Rainbows come out after dark rainy storms. Rainbows shine like a little secret, shining when no one expects them. Nathan walked into my life like a rainbow disguised as a storm and turned my whole world around.

Rainbows are what I've been experiencing ever since we both told each other that we were in love. Not in the sense that it's always colourful, but in the sense that we know that our silly little fights, which sometimes escalate into more, are quite pointless.

It's been about two months since that day. It was my final exam today, officially finishing last among Mia, Eli and Nathan. Our junior years got over today, marking the beginning of summer. I've bagged an internship close to home, whereas Nathan has plans of going to New York to do a quick course in Ethical Hacking. We're going to be apart for a few months, but that is okay. Because much to my Dad's chagrin, we've decided to move in together for the senior year.

Nathan had asked me, quite nervously, about how I felt about living with someone who wasn't Mia or my parents. I had pondered over it as I poured the tomato basil sauce into the chicken I was making for the lasagna and answered that I didn't mind it as long as I was comfortable with that person. What I hadn't consciously noticed then was the fact that I wasn't even living with Mia at this point, Nathan at our apartment and Mia always at his.

Almost all his stuff was here, and all her stuff was there. Sure, on most days, we four just hung around in one apartment, sometimes talking about nothing in particular, other times doing our work in comfortable silence.

So when he casually asked me if I wanted to live with him, it went something like this.

"Maybe I should permanently move here," he said, half-joking and half-serious.

"Do it," I nodded with a piece of lasagna in my mouth.

His jaw fell open as he stared at me, "You're kidding."

I furrowed my eyebrows, "Nay, when was the last time you went back to your apartment?"

"Last week?" he said, but it came out more like a question. He saw my smug smile and shook his head, "No, but you're not getting it. I'm supposed to ask, and you're supposed to scream your head out and say yes."

"You're not asking for my hand in marriage, Wright."

And then he had muttered something under his breath which sounded an awful lot like 'yet', but before I could point it out, I was picked up in his arms and smothered with kisses.

Needless to say, our lasagna was long forgotten that night.

Ma took a little convincing, but seeing how happy it made us, she agreed. Dad gave Nathan another of his infamous glares, which didn't see any signs of wavering until Ma said, "Just don't give us grandchildren yet, thank you."

One sentence is all it took to mortify us and break Dad's glare, making him laugh quite loudly with Ma.

My parents have the weirdest sense of humour.