Love is an illusion

8

I glare at the time on my phone and let out a sigh as I attempt to stand up. I hate it when my body wakes me up at six in the morning, automatically. The soft morning light sneaks through my curtains, taunting me as I try to muster the energy to face the day.

"Fuck my life..." I whisper, fighting back tears. Last night, I confessed to Miles that I liked him too. Why did I say that? My mind races with the memory, feeling anxious about going to work. I can't face him today—I'm dying of embarrassment.

What will he say? Maybe he'll tell me it was all a mistake, or perhaps he'll ask me out. But that can't happen; he's engaged to some rich girl. Why would he choose me over Celine Adler? I could just call the hospital and say my dad isn't well and that I can't come in. If I see him, I'll pretend last night never happened. But that excuse is ridiculous. Ugh, my head hurts; I can't think straight.

Instead of taking the subway, I decide to take a taxi to see Dad since it'll be faster by 15 minutes. As I sit in the backseat, I can't shake the anxiety gnawing at me. I stare out the window at the passing cityscape, each block reminding me of the things I've tried to forget—my awkward confession, the look in Miles's eyes, and the weight of the world on my shoulders.

The taxi driver stops outside the hospital, and I hand him the fare before stepping out. Dad's room is 629, so I head to the sixth floor. When I get into the elevator, it's empty. As the doors close, they open again on the second floor, and I see Miles coming in. I stand awkwardly to the side, hoping he'll get off on the next floor, but the universe has other plans.

"I'm sorry about last night, but I mean it," he says without looking at me, his voice low and sincere.

I stay silent, my heart pounding in my chest.

"And I like you a lot," he adds, finally turning to face me.

"Let's get this straight: I want to go out with you," he continues, looking into my eyes with a intensity that makes it hard to breathe.

"I don't kn—" I start, but he interrupts me.

"Are you free tonight?" he asks abruptly.

"I am, but—" I attempt to say, but he cuts me off again.

"Then I'll see you at seven outside the building," he declares, stepping out as soon as the elevator doors open.

I don't understand why I didn't object. Maybe this is something I want too. But even if we date, we can never truly be together. We're too different, and his family would never accept our relationship. Plus, he has a fiancée. This is going to get messy.

I don't have the energy to think about Miles right now; I need to focus on Dad's health. The elevator reaches the sixth floor, and I step out, searching for room 629. When I finally push the door open, I see Dad lying in the bed. I rush to him, giving him the biggest hug.

"Dad!" I exclaim, squeezing him tightly. "I'm so happy you're alright." I hold him even tighter, grateful that nothing serious happened to him.

"Hey, easy there! I'm not going anywhere," he chuckles, but his eyes show concern. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, just worried about you," I reply, pulling back to look at him. "The doctors said you'll be okay, right?"

"They're optimistic," he assures me, but I can see the fatigue etched on his face. I've always been afraid of abandonment because of what my mom did to me. I wish I could travel back in time and fix their relationship. I fear I'll follow in my parents' footsteps—living in poverty and a broken marriage. I've never dated because I don't have the courage to love someone. In the end, I might end up hurting myself with love, just like my parents did.

Yet, there's a part of me that longs for someone. Someone who will make me smile on my hard days, willing to spend their life with me and learn about each other. But love comes with sorrow, and that's what I fear. Sometimes, people just fall out of love.

After I help him eat lunch, I tuck him back into bed, and he drifts off to sleep. I stand by the window, gazing out at the bustling city below, my thoughts turning back to Miles. The weight of my feelings for him presses down on me. What if I did say yes to him? Would I be making a mistake, or would it lead to something beautiful?

When I head home, I can't shake the feeling of emptiness. I haven't seen Miles in two days, and I kind of miss him?!? That sounds weird. I can't get him out of my head. He's there when I go to bed, when I shower, when I eat, when I walk. I want to forget him, but I just can't. Ughhh, what's wrong with me? I start rolling around in bed, thinking about him. Should I just call him? No, that would make me look desperate. I won't do that; it's too shameful.

Maybe I'll just quit my job and move to another state. All these thoughts are driving me crazy. I pick up my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I see his name. Should I send him a message? Just a simple "How are you?"

Before I can overthink it, I hit send. My heart races as I toss my phone on the bed, watching it vibrate. Will he reply? What if he doesn't? I bury my face in my pillow, trying to breathe through the anxiety.

Moments later, my phone buzzes. I quickly grab it, my heart pounding in my chest. It's Miles: "Hey! I've been thinking about you. Can we talk?"

I feel a rush of warmth, a mixture of excitement and dread. I can't avoid this any longer. I type back, "Sure, I'd like that."

As I hit send, a wave of uncertainty washes over me. What are we even going to talk about? My heart races with the possibilities—what if he really wants to be with me? What if he doesn't? The line between excitement and anxiety blurs as I prepare for whatever comes next.