The boy I like

05

Lucas

"Say something, Maya. Why are you quiet?" I hate the silence. I hate that she is two steps away from me. I want her. I need her. 

Because, Luke.

I love you. You are the only one I want in my life but hearing those warnings in your voice I realised maybe you really aren't who I want, and perhaps it was the idea of you that made me so excited.

I want you, Luke. I want to touch you, to feel you, to know what it feels like with me in your arms. And as much as my heart is beating faster than the speed of light, my head is spinning and my stomach is flipping right now, hearing you call out my name not once, not twice but three times with more hints of warning each time made me rethink my decision and I am not doing anything to you until I know how you are feeling about me.

Because it hurts, Luke. It hurts knowing that I love you and perhaps you don't find it uncomfortable. Perhaps you don't even want to be with me and it hurts because perhaps you will be doing all the things I wanted to do with you with some other girl.

And it wouldn't be me. 

She confesses. She...likes me? Why was I worried all this time? I hold back my tears. All this lost time and I could have just made her mine.  I see my reflection in the lids of her eyes and I realise tears had been rolling down her cheeks. I was so lost in her eyes and her confession, I didn't realise anything else. I just want to hug her and ask her to stop worrying all the damn time because she is just so beautiful to worry about something.

I look at her. 

"Come closer" it came out as a command rather than a request. She stays where she is. I can't take this anymore. 

"Please, Maya." I clench my hands into a fist. 

She moves closer. 

"Touch me." 

She brings her hands mid-air close to my face. She stops. I frown in confusion. What is she stopping, goddamnit? 

Are you sure? She asks. 

I was never more sure in my life. I am known for making risky decisions for the business and right now, I am never more sure in my life. 

"Touch me, Maya," I repeat. 

Her fingertips land on my face as she traces them on my face. She lands her soft fingers one by one until I can feel her hand on my face. I wince at her touch. She has the softest touch I think I am sensitive to. 

She sniffs away her tears and brings her other hand to my face, cupping my chin. 

All this time. And she could have been mine. 

I can't hold back from my tears anymore. 

A small drop of tear runs through my cheek and she wipes it slowly with her thumb, stroking my face. 

It's ok, sweetheart

My stomach dances by the nickname. The only other person who had called me by the nickname was my Late mother. I want to yield to her arms and stay there for so long.