Is it Casual now?

Chapter 11 - Kylie's perspective

*A COUPLE DAYS LATER*

I bit my lip, staring thoughtfully at the worn notebook that lay open on my cluttered desk. I could hear a distant tune in my head, my feet followed the beat by tapping lightly on the floor, and my finger on the table. Then, my hand shot over to the page and I let my emotion pour out onto the paper, flowing through the black biro, connecting my soul to every word. I cracked a subtle, proud smile at my writing. Call me cringey, but ever since the day in the library with Malia, I've been working on a song about her. I must admit that originally, I never dreamt of her hearing it, but a lot had changed since then. Now, it felt like it was time she knew how I felt. 

I'd be lying if I said that I'd completely recovered from the events of the party, as I wrote, my heart still ached longingly after the Canadian, each word making me reminisce over her more and remember how much I'd hurt her. But despite the sadness, I was trying my hardest to put the painful past behind me and keep my hope alive. I guess you could say that this song is my attempt at a heartfelt apology gift for her, I thought that if she heard it then maybe there'd be a chance of her forgiving me. There were many routes I could've taken to show her how much I cared, but music seemed like the right one. When I sing, I don't stumble on my words, don't have to worry about saying the wrong thing, and as if by magic, any pent up nervousness inside of me always seems to disappear. I was about three quarters of the way through writing the song, it had been taking me a lot longer to finish than my other ones, not because I didn't have enough to say about Malia, trust me... I could go on and on about that girl, but instead because I was determined to make every lyric absolutely perfect. From the adjectives I used to describe her smile, to explaining how she made my heart flutter whenever we were together, I'd carefully chosen each word. 

Honestly, even though I've written many love songs for various people prior to Malia, none of them can even come close to comparing to this one. All those other times, I thought I had been writing about real love but this... this is... deeper. I don't know how to explain it but Malia just makes the words come alive in a way they never have before. It's like I'm connected to her soul through the lyrics, even though we are apart. In the past, I would've been focusing on the technical side of a song I was writing, you know... pretty melodies, catchy words, those types of things. However, now, they didn't even cross my mind, the only thing I cared about was making sure my heart resonated with what I was singing, and that each verse was laced with true, raw emotion. 

The intimacy of writing a song for Malia went unmatched, as my pen danced over the musical canvas, my heart felt electrified like never before. I couldn't comprehend the crazy hold she had over me, reading the lyrics that described her, alone, made me feel utterly weak in the knees.

When I'd finally finished writing, I got up from my chair and snatched the notepad off the table. Grabbing my keys and coat, I headed out the door. As I walked across campus, my hair blew wildly in the wind and the cold was starting to numb my fingers. Clutching the song book tightly in my chilly hands, I kept my eyes fixed on the ground. This was the first time I'd left my accommodation building since the party and now I was out in the open, surrounded by people other than my best friend, I felt incredibly vulnerable. A surge of self consciousness would hit me every time someone looked my way, and even though I knew it was all in my head, I couldn't help but worry if they knew and were judging me for how badly I'd hurt Malia. Adding to my nervousness, was of course the terrifying possibility of seeing the Canadian herself out here. My heart shuddered as I speedily climbed the concrete steps to the main building. 

As I walked inside, I was greeted by the lobby's comforting warmth. Dodging through the sea of students, I made my way down the hallway and eventually reached the music department's corridor of recording studios. Whilst I walked down, I peered through the small windows in the doors to each of the studios, every one had people inside. I groaned, it seemed like my search for a vacant one would never end, I should've come here earlier to claim a room before the evening rush. I stopped outside the final studio at the end of the hall. Again, turning my head to inspect the space, however, this time I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was empty! I smiled, celebrating in my head. Opening the door, I grinned and inhaled deeply, taking in the impressive, state of the art recording equipment. I'd used these rooms many a time during my time at NYU, but the exhilarating feeling of walking into an empty studio, with a fresh song up my sleeve, never gets old. The studio was split into two rooms, connected by a door and large glass window: the controls section, and a little recording booth. I approached the broad desk of controls, bending over and setting everything up to record myself. My fingers adjusted the switches quickly and confidently, knowing exactly what to press, it was as if they were on autopilot mode. Despite not having a single academic bone in my body, I'm actually surprisingly skilled at producing my own music, if I do say so myself.