Ten Years

Chapter Five

Leïla raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I am."

Edward's gaze lingered a moment over her face before settling back on her brown eyes. Yes, dark brown eyes. He could see the colour now. They matched her brown skin and auburn curly hair.

She narrowed her eyes and he snapped to attention. "Of course you do. I just..." Edward felt stupid. What he wanted to do was ask her where she was from. He wanted to know her name and ask about that accent of hers. He wanted to know what made her laugh and which ice cream flavour she preferred. He wanted to ask a hundred questions, anything than the one he had. Instead, he just made a fool of himself. It was time to rewind.

"I thought maybe you were going somewhere else, like me," he added. "I was supposed to be on a flight to LA but here I am and..." He stopped talking and stared at her as he saw a twinkle of humour in her eyes.

"Well," she said. "I almost missed this flight as the one I was on before had arrived pretty late. Other than that, I am going to San Francisco."

"Oh, so you're not from London."

"Nope. Casablanca."

He smiled. "Of all the gin joints in all of the towns in all the world..."

She smiled back. "... she walks into mine."

"God, I love this movie. Humphrey Bogart was magnificent. So much torment and hopelessness and vulnerability in his acting."

"Confession time." Leïla cleared her throat. "I've never seen Casablanca."

Edward gave her a mocking look of shock, his hands on his cheeks. "Oh dear."

She closed her eyes and laughter rolled from her throat. It was generous and deep and warm and came from within. And most of all, once Edward heard her laugh, all he wanted to do was to make her laugh, again and again.

"I just know this line. If I had a penny for every time it had been said to me ..." She turned in her seat and faced him. "Whenever I travel abroad and I say I'm from Casablanca, there's always someone who recites that line," she added and shrugged her shoulders.

A rustling noise caught both of their attention as the anoraked man sitting in the aisle stood up and retrieved his bag from the overhead compartment. He glanced into Leïla's direction and left their row, his face wearing an unpleasant expression. She didn't notice it, but Edward did, and he didn't like it one bit. He felt protective of her. And why would he feel that way?

Edward liked this girl - which was weird, considering he just met her thirty minutes ago.  He wasn't in the habit of chatting up every girl that passed by.

No. Edward was incapable of flirting in bars or clubs or cafés and hated one-night stands. He wanted meaningful and deep connections. Like the one Jabbar and Mary had. But he hadn't met anyone he liked lately, and if he was honest with himself, he had been busy being an understudy. But then his luck struck, and he went from understudy to main cast for six weeks – which is a long run in the West End. And then he was even busier. But it was okay. More than okay in fact.  The six weeks of intense shows and matinees may have opened doors for him he never dreamed of seeing open anytime soon.

"Ah, I think our neighbour just left. More room for us," Leïla said looking at the empty seat next to Edward.

Good riddance. If he wanted, he could move to the aisle seat. That's what he would've done any other time. But now, there was no other place where Edward wanted to sit than in the seat next to Leïla.

"So, judging by your accent you're British. Right?" she asked.

"Yes, born and raised in Wimbledon."