To Be Continued...

FORTY EIGHT

I couldn’t believe we had finally met. Seeing Nicolas standing in front of me felt surreal, like a dream I hadn’t expected to come true. He seemed almost too good to be real, an enigma that had somehow materialized from the depths of my imagination. Everything about him felt like it belonged to another world—a world I wasn’t sure I was ready for, yet couldn’t resist. I never thought I was capable of kissing someone, or feeling this intimate connection with someone, but with him, it all came naturally. It felt like we were meant to be there, in that moment, together.

After our date, I did what I always do—I confided in Veronica. I told her about the kiss, half-expecting her to downplay it, but instead, she got excited, her eyes lighting up with curiosity and joy for me. “You kissed him? That’s huge, Harini!” she exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. Her enthusiasm was infectious, but I couldn’t help feeling a mix of emotions—excitement, fear, and something deeper that I wasn’t ready to name.

Later that night, Veronica and I watched a movie, but my mind was elsewhere. The images of Nicolas kept flashing before my eyes—his smile, the way his hand felt against mine, the warmth of his breath so close to my skin. I replayed the kiss over and over in my head, each time feeling the flutter in my stomach intensify. And then, as I sat there, my phone buzzed with pictures. Nicolas had traveled back to Portsmouth that night, and seeing him in those photos, looking tired but happy, made my heart swell with a strange mix of affection and guilt.

He’d gotten into so much trouble just to see me. I hadn’t mentioned this to Veronica, but he had fought with his grandfather about coming here. His grandfather hadn’t handed him the car, so Nicolas had made the journey on his motorcycle, battling the cold and the distance—just to be with me. The effort he put in, the lengths he went to, made me feel something profound, something that scared me as much as it thrilled me.

My father picked me up from Veronica’s, completely unaware of the date I had just been on. There was no guilt, no lingering doubt. I felt right about it, about us. For once, everything seemed to align, like it was meant to happen this way.

Back home, I messaged Nic to let him know I was safe. He didn’t reply instantly, and I imagined him riding through the night, pushing through fatigue to make it home. It was past midnight when he finally reached, and I could almost feel the exhaustion in his words when he texted me back, but there was something else there too—a sense of fulfillment, of contentment.

The next day during classes, we couldn’t keep our eyes off each other. It was as if we were the only two people in the room, our connection so palpable that it became obvious to everyone else. I noticed Ayesh, a girl from our class who had a not-so-secret crush on Nicolas, glaring at me. But he made it clear where his heart lay.

“Hold on, I’ve got an idea,” he whispered to me after class, his voice low and teasing. A few moments later, he posted a story of the two of us together, looking blissfully happy. Within minutes, my phone blew up with notifications—reactions from people, some surprised, others envious. He sent me the screenshots, a smirk playing on his lips. “Looks like we’re causing a stir,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

I couldn’t help but smile, enjoying the way people were getting jealous of what we had. But there was something deeper than that—no amount of jealousy could ever come between us. Nicolas had already done so much for me, and I knew that by staying with him, by supporting him, I would do the rest.

I remembered the countless times he had stood up for me. There were those random flirty messages from unknown numbers—Nicolas had handled them with such calm authority that I hadn’t had to worry for a second. And then there was that time when a guy catcalled me, and after I blocked him, his parents called Nic to talk trash about me. I braced myself for the fallout, but Nicolas had dealt with it so smoothly, so effortlessly, that I couldn’t help but marvel at how protective he was of me.

After our first meeting, I thought it was obvious that I was his, that we belonged to each other. But on one of our late-night calls, he surprised me again.

“Harini,” he said, his voice soft and serious, “be my Shizuka.”

The reference to the character from *Doraemon*—the gentle, kind girl everyone adored—made me smile. There was a vulnerability in his voice, a need for reassurance that tugged at my heartstrings.

Without a second thought, I replied, “All yours, Nic. Always.”

And in that moment, I knew I meant it. Completely, utterly, and with all of my heart.

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