under the covers [hs au]

harry's letter.

Once upon a time, in my dreams, it was just you and me.

I see you in my arms. You're always laughing, kissing my cheek in the kitchen, and holding my hand as we walk down the street. My heart is full, just as you hold it. You listen to, understand, and allow me to remember my worth. I am open, just for you, and I always will be.

You're always there, by my side. You didn't leave for America. You didn't run away from me. You stayed. You decided to make it work. We pushed through and became exactly what I envisioned us to be. You've forgiven me for everything I did, time and time again. And I changed into a better, healthier person. And so did you.

But that's why they're called dreams. When you wake up, the dream is over, and it's reality.

You made me a dreamer, Samira. You're the fleeting thought, coming like a breeze and leaving like a storm. You floated into my life like a butterfly, and when you landed in my palm, I couldn't let you go. I clipped your wings.

I woke up to reality the moment you learned to fly away. Our love was never a dream, and it never would be. Dreams don't exist. Everything had been written, and it couldn't be redone or erased. Not even a vision, an idea to be hopeful for, or a prayer can change that.

A little bit after you left, I would wake up in the morning. And after I'd made breakfast, two plates would be sitting on the counter—I didn't realize I'd made another plate. I had a habit of waiting for you to return from class because you'd always leave without eating.

It'd been weird not waking up with your warm arms around me or with your curly hair trapped in some crevice of my neck or face. Or finding you in the kitchen and making coffee for the both of us, just the way we like it. Planning for when I'd see you next. Reminding you to take your iron pills and getting upset whenever you'd tell me you couldn't make it. Constantly wondering what you were doing, where you were, why you decided to do something without me or without telling me, who you spent your time without me there. With all those selfish things, I thought I was loving you. But instead, I was hurting you and hurting us.

I was attached to your presence, and I hated remembering that you grew apart from me long before we broke up. It felt weird how I longed to have someone next to me. A person to wait for every night. Maybe you missed me, but you were relieved it was over. But I wasn't. I thought our paths were intertwined, that your life was my life as well. Our life. I still needed you. I thought you'd come back, try to find me, or call me. Tell me that you missed me. Apologize for leaving. Tell me that you still loved me and needed me, too. That idea alone was like a tightened, arduous knot that I had to untangle.

I wanted you to stay. I wish I had told you to stay. When the elevator opened, every part of me wished I had said it before it closed. Scream it. I would have gotten on my knees and begged you. Take you with me wherever I was going to go next. I would've run to the airport to tell you how much I love you or chased after you for miles and miles if you'd already boarded before I could make it. Did everything I could to get you to change your mind, no matter what it would be.

The very moment I left you in the hallway, I wanted to stop you.

But right when we parted, I'd learned to listen to you, Samira. In your eyes, I could tell you'd made up your mind. You didn't want to stay. Even while asking if you needed me, I'd already known the answer. No part of you wanted me any longer. You were done. It wasn't that you hated me, but in your mind, I was nothing, as your heart had nothing left for me. I'd taken everything and was far too late. You fell out of love with me. The harsh reality was inevitable. Like death.

Perhaps I knew you'd leave me the moment you'd stepped into my life. When you first made me feel something, that jarring but emotional feeling. The moment you raised your voice, or the first time you said "fuck you" to my face. Or maybe when you told me you loved me on the roof at Leaf. When you cooked me that warm bowl of soup and comforted me. When you no longer laughed at my jokes. When you stopped looking me in the eye. When you slowly started pushing me away while I wondered why it was so hard to pull you close.