Cupid never had a chance in their messy, parental-restricted love story
Karishma Jha, a twenty-one-year-old recent graduate with the world at her feet if only she chose to face it. Plagued with the worries of the future and yet healing from the scar...
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Another week passed by with no word from him. Assuming that the ball was in my court, I wrote him another note.
Dear Flynn
Please I am half your height. I could not have been that scary. But I have something else that might scare you, Romeo. Hands-off. Come for me, my heart, or anything, and you will meet the fate of Gaston.
Since we are some of the rare individuals who are absolutely free in the daytime, would you like us to hang out sometimes? Give me another chance to show you my hospitality.
P.S.- Since you still have not shown the manners of introducing yourself I have to resort to giving you a name of the fictional character you are live-actioning.
P.P.S.- This is how you ask someone to be their friend. In a non-invasive and peaceful manner. Barging into their home via the balcony is totally not the way. But, as an olive branch, I forgive you.
I debated putting my name on the note but decided against it. He might have changed his mind about hanging out and I did not want to appear as desperate. I did not want to turn the rumors into truth.
However, half an hour later I decided that my letter was too childish. It was imprudent of me to assume that he was unemployed too. Maybe he worked from home. What if he took my invitation to hang out as a proposal for a date? What if he already has a girlfriend?
My overthinking worked its magic and one hour after I had slid the letter under his door, I walked over next door with a wire shaped into a hook.
It was still early in the morning for him. With the schedule he kept he might not even be awake. I slid the wire down the door and moved it sideways, hoping to feel the letter. I hit a solid object. Happy that I had succeeded, I tried to maneuver it towards me. However, the wire was yanked out of my hand with a sudden force.
For a few moments, I stared at the door, still on the ground. A shuffling sound on the other side of the door finally hinted that the receiver of my letter was awake and did not appreciate me trying to take back my letter.
I could see him moving through the gap below the door. He was standing on the other side of the door, probably looking at me through the peephole. It felt ridiculous to communicate via letter when we shared a wall and now just stood opposite each other, albeit with a door between us. But when had things ever been conventional with us?
I swallowed my loss and went back to my apartment. All I could do now was wait for his response.
I did not have to wait long for in the next few hours I had it.
Dear Katarina Minola
If your letter had been any longer, it could have been impossible to slide it under the door.
Here is my number- 725-x-x-x-x-x-15
P.S.- Since you appear to be well-read, I am sure you know who Katarina is.
