Cherry Wine

f o u r

        I called him right after I closed the door behind me. He answered with a muffled chuckle, "Can't get enough of me, can you?" 

"Shut up," I mumbled and smiled. 

Suddenly the line went awfully quiet. I furrowed my eyebrows, "Noah? You alright?" 

His voice sounded hesitant like he still wasn't sure why he was telling me this, "I don't know I'd this is too fast, but I just wanted to tell you--I love you." 

I let out a gasp and pressed my fist in my mouth. My system was going haywire. He continued, "I'm making myself vulnerable for the first time, Abby, and it's all for you. I trust you." 

When he laughed, I could almost imagine him running his hand through his hair. I leaned my back on the door and slid down, listening to his deep voice, "You do things to me, Abby. Wonderful things. God, when did I become so cheesy? You... You are my Achilles heel. You're going to be the death of me." 

The night sang a sorrowful lullaby. I rested my head against the door and pressed my lips on the screen," And you will be mine, " I whispered," And you will be mine. "

Funny how that turned out to be.

                 May 2019

Noah seemed to have disappeared in thin air.

At first, I was just scared. He didn't respond to any of my texts and calls after our date. I couldn't stop thinking. What if his father hurt him? What if he was in trouble? What if he needed my help?

And after a week of sleepless nights, I got a single text from Noah.

I am fine. Stop texting me.

And then it hit me: he wasn't in trouble, he was just ignoring me.

Time passed excruciatingly slowly. My mind wouldn't stop racing; does he hate me? Is it something I said? Or is it something I did?

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Everything was supposed to change after the date. 

After two weeks of misery and moaning, Sarah seemingly decided she had enough of my shit.

"Enough!" she yelled, slamming her hands on the table, "No, Abby, it's not your fault. It never was. If he starts ghosting you after your first date, then he must just be a douche, which I already suspected he was. Let it go."

And yet, I couldn't. Even though I was worried sick that he was just mad at me, there was this small part in me which kept asking me if he was just in trouble. It wasn't like Noah to say things like that. Something must've definitely been wrong.

"Okay." I nodded like I understood and went back to writing my essay.

***

"Hi," a voice squeaked behind me.

Continuing to wipe the sweat dripping from my face with a towel, I turned around. A red-headed boy was standing a few feet away from me, his cheeks flushed a bright red. He pushed back his gold-rimmed glasses which was perched on top of his freckled nose in a way which made him looking terribly cute and smiled, "Hi, I'm Ethan. I just wanted to say that the short-story you submitted today was really good. The way you captured the character's struggle with dealing with her sorrow was beautiful."

I smiled back, setting the towel down beside me. I was pretty proud of that short-story myself, and that is saying a lot considering the fact that I hated almost all of my writings. The professor was so impressed by it that he insisted on reading it out to the class. Ethan had the same classes that I did and in my opinion, was a far better writer than I was. He used to sit in front of me during the creative writing classes. I have found myself lost in his writing many, many times, while he was too busy admiring the clouds through the window. It was kinda hard to read it without toppling down to his bench or seeming like a creep, but I somehow managed it.