three am.

her.

Saturday couldn't come quicker to her, as she bolted past Friday in a flurry. Forget about the party she was being forced to go to. Never mind that her friends were dragging her there and everywhere. All she thought about was Saturday, and him.

She had suggested taking a stroll around the plaza, perhaps to be fortunate enough to find a twenty-four hour diner or cafe. The morning under the sign was fine, but too soon had their legs hurt and they had to sit on the ant-ridden curb. It fascinated her how they were in comfortable discomfort; chatting away as if they had been friends for a thousand years, while their bottoms numbed from the hard pavement. Maybe it was just the effect of two strangers, who believed that they were not strangers. She thought that the charm of an outsider is so much greater than that of her hundred friends.

The boy is certainly no one special; he was just him. And she liked that he was just him, rather than he become something more than just him. Because sometimes, the simplest form of someone or something, is the loveliest they can be.

She smiled at the thought, as she readied for bed. Ready to pretend to sleep again for her uncle, before sneaking out at three am. She simply could not wait.