A capricious rollercoaster of feelings - just for you and Harry, minced with a flavour of each emotion and sentiment you desire to experience.
. . .
[Oneshots] First prize winner of Imagines category in Kiwi Awards, 2019.
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“What's she doing here?” Harry couldn't help but mutter under his breath. He was referring to you.
It'd been eight months straight, since you guys had parted on bitter terms—the day you called off your wedding. The day you found out about your growing disability, biologically indeed. You had minimum amount of time left.
Leaving him, hanging on the aisle, was hard for you. But you had to do it eventually, you had to save Harry from the lifetime of sadness while you tried to cope up within yourself through machines and oxygen masks. Death was an alternate option. And you didn't want him to suffer with you.
There were two options available at that time; one, staying with Harry and leaving him forever with a broken heart which wouldn't budge to move on from you after your death. Two, the easiest choice, to leave him be and let him move on from you, even if that demanded him hating you for the rest of his life.
You sacrificed yourself.
But he couldn't hate you. He couldn't move on.
It was supposed to be a private wedding. Only inviting a few family and friends. But even between his folks, Harry felt exposed. He felt vulnerable and humiliated. It was a swirl of every unhappy emotion when you left him standing, waiting at the end of the church.
He demanded answers. Why did you leave him? He didn't know. How could you do this to him? He still didn't know. Heartbroken was an understatement for him. Harry was devastated.
And, now, when he watched you walking down the red carpet of Dunkirk, looking unusually skinny, he couldn't rake his eyes off you.
He was oblivious. But not dumb. Everybody has a thing called common sense fitted in their mind. It wouldn't take a doctor to understand, something was wrong with you. The flesh against your cheek bones had sunken in, while bones poked out from every corners of your bosom. But you still managed to look like a beauty.
Something was definitely fishy.
Harry kept looking over his shoulder. He kept looking over at you, mentally trying to ravish all those secrets to understand one simple thing, one mere reason to why you left him hanging.
He demanded answers.
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☆ should I write an extended version of this minishot? Or maybe a short story? Please comment your feedback. Good day x
