Life doesn't always seem to work your way. It surprises you, in the most deadly and sometimes happier ways.
❤
"We never broke up"
"We were never together"
"What was it, that we had?"
"Almost love"
❤
"If it is 'Yes' I will be on cloud nine, If it is...
"We don't fall in love with people because they're good. We fall in love with people whose darkness we recognise.... Love is found in darkness. It's the candle of the night."
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The announcement crackled through the speakers, making the entire class pause mid-sentence.
"Attention, students! This year's prom will be held in two weeks. Theme: Starlit Masquerade. Dress to impress!"
Excited whispers erupted around me. Chairs screeched against the floor as students twisted around to talk to their friends. Some girls giggled while a few guys groaned dramatically about the expenses. A couple of overenthusiastic students even let out small squeals.
I felt my heart pick up its pace—not because of the announcement, but because of Hugo.
I glanced sideways at him. He sat lazily in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers like he couldn't be bothered by the chaos around him. His head was tilted slightly, his dark curls falling over his forehead.
Typical.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress a tiny smile. People were already planning their promposals, whispering about how they wanted it to be perfect. Someone behind me was talking about renting a horse.
WTH? I stifled a laugh.
Hugo didn't seem like the type to care about fancy promposals. He'd probably just ask in the most casual way possible—something like, "Hey, prom?" while stealing my fries. He's casual when it comes to this. I mean we are already dating so its pretty obvious.
But girls could ask too, right? I wasn't about to sit around and wait. That evening, I sat on my bed, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of me. I wasn't great with words, so I did what I did best—I drew.
A sketch of Hugo and me, dressed in sleek suits, surrounded by tiny stars to match the Starlit Masquerade theme. And, of course, I included our cat, Seigo, sitting in the corner wearing a tiny bow tie.
At the bottom, in neat cursive, I wrote: "Hugo, prom?"
I stared at it for a long moment, wondering if this was stupid. Would he laugh at it? Would he think it was too cheesy? Oh well. Too late to back out now.
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The next morning, I slipped the drawing under his desk before he arrived. My stomach felt weird the whole time, nerves twisting into knots. When Hugo finally walked in, he looked as relaxed as ever, his bag slung over one shoulder.
