What If (What if I loved you)

Chapter 7

"Our hearts whispered secrets that our lives could never reveal."- Unknown

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In the quiet recesses of my dimly lit room, I found myself once again entangled in the intricate web that he created; one I can't seem to shake it off. At the age of 21, when I left Europe, I had hoped that time would've erase these memories, but tonight, they seemed more vivid and suffocating than ever. Each memory was like a relentless specter, haunting the corners of my mind, waiting to pounce when my guard was down. I sat there, a captive audience to my own personal horror show, as scenes of pain, fear, and anguish played out in excruciating detail before my eyes.

It's like I'm drowning in the murky waters of my past. And then a sudden, jarring knock on my door ruptured the heavy silence. My heart leapt into my throat, and a cold shiver ran down my spine. The knock reverberated in my chest, mirroring the palpitations of my heart. For a moment, a wave of sheer terror washe over me, and I am convinced that the ghosts of my past had materialized in the present, that the shadows. The ones I thought I'd run away from and chased forever, are now knocking on my door, demanding to be let back in.

In that heart-stopping moment, it is as space and time had twisted around me, folding the past and present into an agonizing singularity. I suddenly fell small and insignificant in the face of the overwhelming force of my memories, as if I were a lone astronaut adrift in the boundless expanse of the cosmos. The memories had become my stars, each one a point of light in the vast darkness, guiding my thoughts and emotions.

But as the echoes of the knock subsided and a sliver of reason returned, I take a deep, shuddering breath. Slowly, I realise that the knocking wasn't a manifestation of my haunting memories; it was a sound from the realm of the living, a reminder that I still inhabited a physical space, tethered to the present moment. The cold sweat on my forehead began to evaporate as my racing pulse gradually steadied. With an effort, I turn my attention toward the door. The dread that had initially consumed me gave way to curiosity, a cautious spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't my memories returning to haunt me, but rather a living, breathing person on the other side.

As I stood and approached the door, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath my feet reassured me. The room, once a battleground for my mind, was now just a room again. My fingers hesitantly press the handle, the sound echoing through the corridor and my eyes met those of a sad British boy, his expression a world away from the phantoms that had tormented me. The idol behind the door isn't the radiant idol who has captivated thousands with his performances. Instead, it's a person bearing the weight of conflict, his eyes reflecting a tumultuous storm of emotions. It's the same person I've translated for, the one I've come to understand beyond the spotlight, the chaos of fame.

And then, at that moment, I realised. I realise Jake is standing at the door of my flat. And I realise I never gave him my address so how does he know where I live? And how and why exactly did he end up here?

"Hey,", I blurt out confusedly.

"Hey, Kit," he greets, his voice a mixture of awkwardness and genuine warmth. "Can I?"

My brow furrows as I try to process his unexpected appearance. "Huh... Yes you can enter... I guess so..."

As I invite him inside, my gaze is inadvertently wandering over his features. His tousled hair, the way his shoulders slump. It's as if his vulnerability has made him even more alluring. But I quickly shake off those thoughts, reminding myself that this isn't the time for such distractions.