"I will love you in the quiet, where no one dares to look."
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The clang of lockers. The damp stench of wet socks, sweat, and eucalyptus from someone's half-finished sports rub. Steam still lingered in the corners of the locker room, clinging to the old tiles like it refused to leave, just like the thoughts of her refused to leave my head.
And here I was, a towel slung over my shoulder, hair still dripping, standing barefoot in the middle of the locker room with twenty pairs of sweaty socks and Lynx Africa leaking out the goddamn air vents and I'm still talking about her.
"She said she wants to start a boutique," I said, holding a half-empty bottle of Lucozade, laughter escaping before I could finish the sentence. "Like... a boutique, Cameron. Who says that? At seventeen? In this economy?"
A few of the lads nearby hooted. Logan threw his jersey into his bag, muttering something about housewives with trust funds.
"And then you're gonna love this. Like I'm just standing there, drenched, freezing, clothes weighing ten kilos, but she was like, 'But I thought you'd stay, Aadam. I want to open a boutique... have a family here...'" I pitch my voice up mockingly in that shy, stammering, way-too-proper voice she gets when she's upset.
Boys burst out laughing behind me. The wet slap of towels on skin, the echo of lockers swinging shut, the faint hiss of someone shaking a deodorant can.
"She proper said that?" Aaron, lifts a brow. "And you didn't just leg it?"
"Exactly!" I throw up a hand. "Like I'm out there, trying to be all chill, just hug her or whatever, and she's dreaming of kids and cushion covers. And then there's me, wet like a dog, pretending it's all calm. Like some Nicholas Sparks scene. Jesus."
Honestly? I didn't know why I was being like this. Maybe I did.
Because it's easier to joke about her than admit what I felt standing there in that goddamn rain with her arms around me, telling me she wanted to settle down here. Start a boutique. Raise a family.
With me.
She didn't say that part. But she didn't have to.
She looked at me like I was already it.
And I just... hugged her back. Said nothing. Let the rain soak through my hoodie while she clung to me like I was the center of her stupid, warm, cozy, fairy-light world. And the worst part?
I didn't want to let go.
But I didn't say that either.
"I swear to God," I continue, "if she hadn't suddenly gone all moody and accidentally snapped at me like a squirrel on espresso, I was just getting to the best part. I was gonna tell her I'd already booked my flight just to see how she'd react. Could've milked it for days, Cameron."
