All The Love, H (H.S.)

two

Olivia,

I still remember the very first time our paths crossed. It started out as a typical Saturday night in New York City. I was out celebrating passing my final exam of my first year of medical school with some friends, and I certainly wasn't expecting to meet the love of my life. But fate would have it differently.

The Underground was this popular little club in the heart of the Big Apple. It was always packed, always loud, and always offered the best entertainment. Seeing that I had only just arrived in New York City a few months earlier, I had yet to enjoy the finer parts of New York nightlife, but my friend Niall, who had spent his four years of undergrad in a less than sober state here told us that if we wanted the best nightlife in the United States of America, this was the place. I took his word for it, after all what did the Brit from the small town of Holmes Chapel know about New York City?

When we entered the club around 11pm that night, Niall was already wasted. I remember walking into the pounding music and flashing lights and wondering what I had gotten myself into. Was this really the best way to let loose after a stressful week? Within minutes of entering the club, we found ourselves at the bar with Niall ordering us a round of shots and Zayn practically forcing me to chug a beer in ten seconds. Once the alcohol kicked in we headed to the dance floor, pushing our way through the crowded bodies.

As I write this, I can still smell the combination of sweaty bodies and spilled drinks. It was one of those smells that would be repulsing at any time except when you are highly intoxicated. Niall spotted a group of girls and started to chat them up. He invited them over to dance with us and soon enough I found myself pressed chest to back with some girl who could barely stand on her own two feet. We danced for awhile and I looked over to see Niall clearly enjoying his time with the girl he had found. I knew he wouldn't be going home alone tonight.

I've never been much for crowds of people, or dancing for that matter and so I decided to head to the bar for another drink, hoping it would maybe loosen me up. That's when I saw you. You were sitting at the bar sipping on your drink slowly, wearing tight black skinny jeans and a purple top that hugged your body in all the right places. I couldn't help but notice the way your brown hair cascaded down your back and how even when you were sitting there looking bored out of your mind, you had the most beautiful face I had ever seen.

I pulled up a seat next to you and raised my hand for the bartender, telling him that I would like a rum and coke. You looked over at me and I caught the light reflecting into your green eyes. I asked if I could buy you a drink and you smiled shyly and said that you "guess that would be okay". I introduced myself as Harry and you told me your name was Olivia. I remember thinking Olivia was the perfect name for you, it had the ring to it that made you want to shout it from the rooftops.

We started up a conversation. I found out that you, like me, had been dragged to the Underground by friends telling you that you needed to unwind. I also found out that you too had recently moved to the area for your new job working as a journalist for the New York Times. I told you that I just moved to NYC to start medical school.

Our conversation flowed easily. You told me that you are from Illinois originally, a Midwestern girl, but had moved to New York to be surrounded by art. You said New York City helped your creative juices flow, and there was no better place for you to find your muse. I told you that I'm from England. Cheshire, specifically. You noted that it was quite obvious, with that "cute accent of mine". You asked me why I decided to move to New York City. It was the first time I'd ever been asked that question, in fact it was the first time I'd ever thought about it even being a question.

Why had I moved to New York? I said that it was because it had one of the best medical schools in the world. I rambled about how Britain didn't have any good schools and that I wanted the best education I could get. It was the reason I repeated through my head endlessly at night in those days. But what I didn't tell you was that I had desperately wanted to get away from home. I had wanted to get lost, stay hidden, and blend in with the millions of other people who called New York City home. I think you may have seen through my lie. Maybe you had done some research on medical schools and caught my bluff, or maybe you knew better than to believe that there weren't many other less polluted locations in which to attend medical school.

"Why journalism?" I asked you, eager to continue the conversation. I was rather enjoying our barside chat. In fact, I was glad that I had decided to grab a drink. I hadn't had a stimulating conversation like this in a long time.

"I love to write," you said. "But journalism is really just the stable job to allow me to do that. I really want to write novels. There's a story in everything you know, and in New York City, inspiration is all around us. It practically bleeds from the skyscrapers." I hadn't thought of it that way before, as you know I'd always been more of a science guy. But that description of the city has stayed in my mind to this day. "I don't know why I told you that" you laughed, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, that nervous habit you never managed to get rid of.

"Alcohol maybe? Inspiration from a stranger?" I joked.

"Something like that," you smiled.

"Care for a dance?" I asked hesitantly. I wasn't sure if you even wanted to dance considering we were sitting at the bar in the middle of the club. I decided to go for it anyways, after all the worst thing that could happen was for you to say no.

You surprised me by responding "I thought you'd never ask" and off we waltzed to the center of the floor to join the blobs of grungy bodies pulling off dance moves they'd never do while sober.

We danced almost until the bar closed that night. We laughed and joked and got so close that I could feel my heart begin to race. But at the end of the night, you rushed off with your friend Sarah, who was having an awful time keeping down the ungodly amounts of alcohol she had consumed. Next thing I knew you were headed out the door, and I hadn't had a chance to ask how to get in touch with you.

"Maybe I'll see you around sometime," you yelled through the crowd, just loud enough for me to make out your words.

"Ya maybe," I shouted back, but my words were drowned out and I watched you be whisked away by your friends.

All I knew from that moment on though was that I needed to see you again.

All the Love,

H