Everything we never said

Chapter 3

Chapter Three
 After Hours

I don't cry when I get home.

Which is honestly annoying.

Because if I cried, at least I'd know what to do with myself.

Instead, I stand in my bathroom, staring at my reflection.

The lashes that looked so perfect this morning.

The eyeliner that cut sharp across my eyes.

The lip combo I'd spent forty minutes layering because today mattered.

And all I can think is,

He didn't know me.

Not, he hates me.

Not, He was mean.

Just,

He looked at me.

Smiled politely.

And saw someone he'd never met.

I swallow.

Slowly, I peel off my lashes.

Place them carefully on the counter.

I wiped away my lipstick.

Then my eyeliner.

And suddenly I'm seventeen again.

The computer lab is packed.

Students everywhere.

Some are pretending to study.

Most doing anything but.

I'm bored out of my mind.

That's when I see him.

From behind.

Tall.

Dark hair.

The way he's standing,

It reminds me so much of someone I used to know.

Then I hear it.

"Adrian!"

My head snaps up.

Wait.

No way.

My childhood friend was named Adrian too.

I hadn't seen him in years.

Could it actually be him?

Excitement bubbles in my chest.

Without thinking too hard about it, I walk over and tap him on the shoulder.

The boy turns.

And I immediately know.

I do not know this man.

Wrong Adrian.

Wrong face.

Wrong everything.

I nearly died.

Internally, of course.

Externally, I smile like a fool.

"Oh."

The boy looks at me curiously.

My brain scrambles.

"Um…"

Abort mission.

"Have we met before?"

The boy blinks.

His expression softens almost immediately.

"No," he says gently.

"Oh."

I laugh nervously.

"Oh my God."

"I thought you were someone else."

He smiles.

Just a little.

"I get that sometimes."

"You do?"

"No."

I stare.

Was that a joke?

The corner of his mouth twitches.

Oh.

He's funny.

Quietly funny.

The dangerous kind.

"Oh, wow," I say.

"You're one of those people."

"One of those people?"

"The secretly funny ones."

"I'm not funny."

"You literally just joked."

"I didn't."

"You absolutely did."

He shakes his head.

A little amused now.

I feel myself relax.

Good.

Because for a second there I was considering transferring schools.

"Sorry," I say.

"I was really convinced."

"About me being your friend?"

"Yeah."

"That's disappointing."

I gasp.

"There you go again!"

"What?"

"Being funny!"

"I'm not trying to."

"Worse."

A laugh escapes him.

Quick.

Unplanned.

"I knew it."

He looks away, smiling.

Cute.

Not that I'm thinking that.

Not at all.

Five minutes later

I realize I never got his name.

Which is ridiculous.

Because I embarrassed myself in front of him.

The least I deserve is a name.

I find him packing his bag.

"Hey."

He looks up.

"Hi."

"What's your name?"

"Adrian."

My eyes widen.

"No way."

"What?"

"The person I thought you were was named Adrian."

He laughs softly.

"Seriously?"

"I'm so serious."

"That's unfortunate."

I burst out laughing.

"No, because imagine how crazy I sounded!"

"A little."

"A little?!"

He smiles.

The kind that reaches his eyes.

Warm.

Easy.

And I suddenly understood why I thought I knew him.

Not because he looked like my old friend.

Because he feels familiar.

Safe.

The thought surprises me.

I ignore it.

"Can I have your number?" I ask.

Adrian hesitates.

Not because he doesn't want to.

Because he's shy.

Or careful.

I can't tell yet.

Then he says:

"Sure."

He recites his number.

I confidently reach for my phone.

And realize

horrifyingly

I don't remember my own number.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"I forgot my number."

Adrian stares.

"You forgot your own number?"

"Don't judge me."

"How?"

"I just don't know it!"

"You call people."

"Exactly."

"And somehow that's my problem."

"It is now."

He laughs.

Actually laughs.

I point at him.

"There!"

"What?"

"You laughed."

"I do that sometimes."

"Interesting."

"No, it's not."

"It is because I thought you were serious."

"I am serious."

"You're smiling."

"I regret smiling."

I grin.

Yeah.

I like him.

Not like that.

Obviously.

Just

he's nice.

I text him first.

Naturally.

Me: Hi Adrian.

Me: It's the girl who attacked you in the lab.

A few minutes later:

Adrian: :)
Adrian: You did attack me.

I gasp dramatically.

Me: Excuse me??

Adrian: Emotional distress.

Me: You're annoying.

Adrian: Busy actually.

And there it is.

Busy.

At first I thought it's an excuse.

But then I got to know him.

Really know him.

And I realized

it's not.

Adrian is always doing something.

Assignments.

Projects.

Helping classmates.

Preparing for exams.

Reading.

Working.

Always carrying too much.

Sometimes he'll disappear for hours.

Then come back.

Sorry. I got overwhelmed.

Or, forgot my phone existed.

Or, I've been trying to finish this assignment all day.

I hate it.

Not him.

Just…

the feeling.

The waiting.

Because I like talking to him.

More than I mean to.

One day I finally complained properly.

We're sitting outside after classes.

My arms folded.

"I'm annoyed with you."

Adrian looks up from his laptop.

"I know."

"You do?"

"You've sighed six times."

"I counted eight."

"You would."

I roll my eyes.

"You reply late."

"I'm sorry."

"You always say that."

"Because I am."

I groan.

"No, but seriously."

"You disappear."

Adrian closes his laptop.

Turns it around.

I blink.

Assignments.

Folders.

Deadlines.

Tabs upon tabs.

Then his phone.

Unread messages everywhere.

Friends.

Class groups.

Family.

Notifications piled up.

My annoyance falters.

"I wasn't ignoring you," he says quietly.

"I know."

"No, I mean it."

His voice is gentle.

Almost worried.

"I get overwhelmed sometimes."

"I know."

"I try."

My chest hurts.

Because I believe him.

Every word.

He tries.

He really does.

But and this is the part I never say

Sometimes trying still feels lonely on the other side.

Back in the present

I lie on my bed.

Staring at the ceiling.

My face is clean now.

Bare.

The apartment is quiet around me.

I remember seventeen-year-old Adrian.

The boy who laughed unexpectedly.

Who apologized sincerely.

Who cared.

Who was always overwhelmed.

And I remember twenty-seven-year-old Adrian.

The man who smiled at me today.

The same kind eyes.

The same calm voice.

The same habit of not realizing when someone needed more from him.

At least, that's what I'd spent ten years telling myself.

My phone lights up.

An email.

From Adrian.

Good work today, Ivy.

I know first days can be overwhelming, but I think you'll do really well here.

I stare at it.

And I smile.

A little sadly.

Because of course.

Even now

ten years later

Adrian Ross is still the boy who shows up.

Just not always when you need him to.

And somehow

despite everything

I'm not sure I've ever stopped waiting for him.