Love Is Symphony |✓

| 9 |

"So you guys smooched yet?" Imogen casually asked, an arm perched onto the countertop and a red straw caught between her cherry red lips.

My head quickly snapped towards her, eyes widening a considerable amount as I let out a gasp. "Oh my god, Imogen. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh my god, Imogen. What are you saying?" she mocked, rolling her eyes.

"I said 'what the hell are you talking about' not 'what are you saying'." I gave her a flat look and she paused midway from taking another sip of her iced green tea to look at me.

"Oh?"

"Yes," I gritted out, turning to face the granite island behind me. I grabbed a damp dishcloth from one of the drawers and wiped off the invisible dust from the shiny gray granite with much more force than necessary.

I knew ignoring Imogen's teasing wouldn't do any good. It would just make her shut up for a couple of minutes, if I was lucky maybe a couple of hours, then she'd be back to digging some 'juicy deets' from my nonexistent love life in no time.

But it was the least I could do. After all, I wouldn't want to let the thought of you being interested in me sink in. It would only create a whirl of mess inside my head. And the worst product of that thought? Hope. That shiny and bright hope that maybe we could be so much more than just two acquaintances getting to know each other over cups of tea.

But fantasies aside, I knew it was impossible. Granted, you kept on dropping hints - as Imogen insisted on calling them, while I assumed it as nothing more than a friendly affection - but that didn't mean you were interested in something more.

"But come to think of it," Imogen said in a thoughtful voice, turning around to look at me and to perch both of her arms onto the counter. "He hasn't been here since the last time he asked me for your number. Do you think he'll come back?"

I pursed my lips. There it was, the agonizing question that I've been avoiding to verbally recognize.

I couldn't lie to myself and say that I wasn't silently pondering about your absence. For the past two weeks, even if you weren't always able to drop by the shop, you'd always send a witty text message to me and some corny jokes that always put a smile on my face. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't look forward to your every day texts that seemed to brighten my day.

I couldn't deny the fact that after that moment we shared in Disc Rotations, I may have expected a little more of your presence in my every day, even if it was only in a form of a silly text message.

Sadly though, when Tuesday rolled around this week, you stopped sending texts to me. No more corny jokes about random stuff under the sun and no more random announcements about your dark chocolate cake cravings. Since then, you barely left my mind. And even if you did, you always managed to leave traces of you, permanently etched on my head - lingering.

A part of me kept reassuring myself that maybe you were just busy. Perhaps you lost your phone or maybe you're going through something that needed your full attention and focus. There couldn't be a way for you to just stop talking to me after that night. But of course, here came the insecure little girl in me. Bouncing on the thick layers of my flaws as reasons on why you shouldn't bother messaging me, anymore piled in one by one.

Let us first start with the fact that you were gloriously handsome. Surely, I wasn't the only woman (if I could ever be considered as one) in this world who got fascinated by your charms. There could be alot of other girls out there entertaining you. Prettier, sexier, taller, smarter, well-off.

Rather than simple me who frowned daily in front of a mirror at sight of my pimple marks, lopsided boobs, slighty chubby arms, five-foot-three frame and dull straight, not-so-shiny blonde hair. The fact that I couldn't even afford eating at McDonald's every day for the whole month, every lunch, much less paying for the completion of my four-year Creative Writing major was so depressing.

Second, my lack of the natural ability to flirt.

In fact, I could still remember that one time when I was a sophomore in college, and thought that maybe I was courageous enough to flirt around frat boys in parties and tried to purr seductively but ended up coughing like a mad man.

It was one of those memories I wanted to bury deep underground.

And last, but definitely not the least was this ginormous truth that we didn't fall into any of those coup-ly categories that the society deem to be a perfect match. Just like a.) The Opposites; b.) The Two Peas in a Pod; c.) The Against All Odds; d.) The Cute in The Eyes.

We were just Sean and Serenity. Two random people who weren't under any of those perfect couples, but that didn't mean I wasn't silently hoping that you liked me back.

These reasons, they were all bundled together in my head. All bouncing along the walls of my brain repeatedly - over and over again. But I didn't let Imogen see that. So I flashed her a bored smile and shrugged.

"He might be busy. We don't know what the guy does. He might be a pop star for all we know."

And that earned me a snort, a roll of the eyes and a laughing, "whatever Ser!" from her.

But little did she know as I dug my hand into my jean pocket to pull out my phone and check my inbox, only not to see any messages at all, I hoped that maybe, just maybe, you were really busy just like I made myself believe.