Philophobia (n.) is an overwhelming and unreasonable fear of falling in love, beyond just a typical apprehensiveness about it.

C O M P L E T E D Previously called: They Met On A Sunday ☙❦❧ "Beautiful," he mumbled to himself as he studied the way her hair fell down her shoulders. How her cheekbones sat. How her eyelashes brushed her brow bone. Everything about her. "Hmm?" she sounded out. She heard what he said, but refused to believe he was saying it about her. She was probably hallucinating. She shook her head to try and clear her mind. He watched her in amusement. "Um sorry," she mumbled, "I think I'm hearing things." She laughed awkwardly, letting her eyes stray from his face and look at anything else she could possibly look at. "No you weren't," he corrected her. "You heard right." She lifted her head in surprise and he was already smirking. The glint in his eyes told her that he wasn't lying either. Her heart swelled and she bit her lip instinctively. He groaned. "Fuck Delilah don't do that," his eyes darkened as he admired her plump lips, waiting for the moment he could kiss them. "For my sake." ☙❦❧ A story about a girl who thought she loved a boy; a story about a boy the girl didn't love. ☙❦❧ #1 in the Bouquet Bunch Short Story. Cover by @xtruebeautyx Copyright ©