By Chance

29 - Genevieve

I didn't wake up bursting with energy as I had in previous days. I went to bed crying over how much I had already missed Harry, even though we were still technically in the same city. It didn't matter anymore. In a matter of hours, we were only going to be further apart, and after that, it would just be the beginning of an even greater distance between us. I could've woken up Grace, but it was easier to just sit in the bathroom tub and gather my bearings. Besides, I know it would be fine with her if I had, but I'd hate to because we have an early flight, and I wouldn't want her to be groggy.

She pulled back the curtains and, just like yesterday, caused me to wake up groaning.

"Why do you hate me?" I asked dramatically, even though I was a hundred percent serious at the time. I threw the pillow off my face and onto the floor, sunlight that was barely over the horizon impermissibly flooding my eyes. It was barely there in the early hour but still seemed just as bright as if it had been.

"Nah, it only seems that way."

She stopped and turned as she was about to go into the bathroom, seeing my face's ghastly state.

"Eesh, what happened to you?" she asked as she stopped in front of my bed to look at me. I immediately caught on to what she was getting at and answered as I sat up and stretched.

"I had to say goodbye to Harry last night, and this was the result," I explained through a groan, rubbing my mascara-stained eyes. A concerned look spread across her face, coming over to where I was and sitting beside me.

"Oh, Genevieve. I'm so sorry," she apologized, coming over to give me a heartwarming hug. I felt that, right then, I knew it would all be okay. But my heart still wasn't convinced.

I sat on the plane, bobbing my head to the music flooding through my ears while staring out the window at the fluffy white clouds as more and more sunlight bled through the wisps. It was seven, and we were flying over the English Channel, making our way towards Paris. We were about an hour into our flight, and my stomach was starting to adapt to the early morning, telling me it was ready for food by growling vigorously out of nowhere.

"Genevieve, slow down!" Elijah laughed as I continued snarfing down my delicious, flaky, buttery croissant that I dipped in my giant bowl of soup a' ' l'oignon.

"I can't. It's just so good," I said through a moan while shoving more bread in my mouth, having no shame whatsoever. Grace was eating at about the same speed I was, and no one was reprimanding her, so naturally, I called her out.

"Hey, and by the way, Grace is eating just as fast. Be angry at her for a change." I laughed, dipping my croissant in my soup once more. Grace looked up while over her bowl, in the middle of shoving her croissant in her mouth.

"What?" she asked guiltily through a mouthful of carbs, still holding the remaining piece of bread up to her mouth while looking at us. We all laughed and continued snarfing down our Parisian meals in the middle of the city, having a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower.