Paris Adler and Sydney Blake have been college classmates for a while. Paris is captivated by Sydney's beauty and talent in fashion, while Sydney is drawn to Paris's gentle nature, photography and poetic skills. Their story is one of budding romance...
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Sitting at my desk, I stared at the screen of my phone, the reality of being grounded sinking in. There wasn't much I could do about it now, except wait it out.
With nothing else to occupy my mind, I shot Sydney a quick message:
Paris:"Hi, Syd! 👋 How's your day going? Missing you already."
I waited, hoping to see those three little dots that meant she was typing back, but nothing.
After a few minutes, I tried again, typing out a more detailed message:
Paris:"Just thinking about you. Hope everything's okay on your end. I miss you already. Let me know when you're free."
But still, no reply. She was probably busy or dealing with her own set of chores and restrictions. I sighed, knowing it was likely the case, but my fingers itched to try one more time. Instead of sending another message, I decided to give her a call.
I tapped her name and brought the phone to my ear. After a few rings, it went to voicemail, her voice greeting me in that familiar, soft tone:
"Hey, it's Sydney. I can't get to the phone right now, but leave a message, and I'll get back to you when I can. Thanks!"
I felt a slight smile tug at my lips just hearing her voice, but my chest tightened, knowing we were both in trouble for last night. I waited for the beep and then spoke, my voice coming out softer than I expected.
"Hey, Syd... it's me. I, uh, just wanted to check in on you. I know things got a little out of hand last night, and I feel really bad that we both got in trouble because of it. I'm sorry, Syd. I didn't mean for things to get this complicated."
I paused for a second, collecting my thoughts, my tone turning more sincere. "I keep thinking about last night, though... how close we were, how amazing it felt just to be with you like that. I wouldn't trade it for anything. But I hate that we ended up in this mess. I hope your parents aren't too mad, and I hope you're doing okay."
My eyes wandered to the window, imagining her on the other end, hearing my words. "I miss you already. I wish I could see you, hold you... but I know we've got to lay low for a bit. Just... let me know how you're doing when you get the chance, alright? I'll be here, waiting. Take care, boo."
I ended the call, my thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before I put the phone down.
Restless, I reached for my guitar, the familiar feel of it in my hands bringing me some comfort. I strummed a few chords, letting the sound resonate through the room. It was soothing, helping me to forget, at least for a little while, about being stuck at home.
After a while, an idea sparked in my mind. I could write her a song. I grabbed a piece of paper and began jotting down the notes of the music that I've played last and thinking about all the memories we've shared. I wanted the song to capture everything—how we met in freshman year, that day I took her solo picture during the U of M student council election campaign with Madeline, how everything changed between us on New Year's Eve, and so on.
