EVE: A Short Unforgettable Love Story

Chapter Seven

Kellan Porter POV

Two weeks and it’s summer. It’s been three months. Three months of practicing the art of pretending. Pretending that I felt okay despite what happened between me and Isabella. Three months of pretending I wasn’t thinking about her. Three months of pretending her absence wasn’t gaping a hole in me. Three months of pretending that what I did was for the best. If you’ll ask me, Ignoring is much easier than pretending, because it’s easy to ignore things, but it’s hard to pretend those things doesn’t matter. We seldomly see each other in school, we crossed paths, but she didn’t stare at me for more than a second, she didn’t talk to me again. I feel like a complete coward, every time I see her and I couldn’t do anything. A familiar ache always flickers, it’s agonizing, and a constant dull throb of pain in my chest every time she ignores me, and talked to that Rence guy that she’s always with. I felt angry, happy, excited, jealous, sad, anxious, scared. I felt so much emotions that I have never felt in sixteen years until after I met her. But I wouldn’t blame her. Now, I have tasted my own medicine.

Then, on a one sunny Saturday, she walked past the Mechanic Shop pulling her bike, and the plot twist? She was conversing with my mother. I was left speechless, and confused if it is one of the coincidences that often, questionably happen.

“Hey Mom!” I approached them. I set my eyes on Isabella, who’s now completely confused. “Hey, Kellan.” My mother replied. “What?” Isabella intervened, dumbfounded.

“Did you two knew each other?” Mom asked. “At school. He’ my senior from school.” Isabela instantly spoke. “Oh.” Mom said.

“I think I should get going now, Mr. Porter. See yah.” Isabella said throat tightened as she quickly heads out and rode on her bicycle. “Bye, drive safe.” Mom spoke. I stared at them, contemplating with so much thoughts. Maybe she doesn’t know she was my mother.

…

At home, I kept looking at my mom who’s now cooking in the Kitchen. “How long have you two knew each other?” I asked out of the blue. “Who? Isabella?” She asked as she searched for a pan. “Yeah.”

“Oh, we’ve known each other for years. Did I ever tell you I worked as a cook for Madden’s family for a year?” She asked as she looked at me. “Never.” I replied. “I’ve known her since she was a baby. I worked at them. I resigned because you we’re hospitalized for months when you were five and I had to focused on your recovery. I actually just get back meeting her three years ago. She’s a pretty girl, isn’t she?”

That explains everything. “Why did you ask?” She asked. “Nothing” I replied. She joshed a silent laugh. “She actually told me about her crush when I met her this morning.” My ears grew massive, and my attention glued on her. “She told me she had a crush on this boy for a half year now. But he rejected her.” She laughed louder.” Now, I’m curious what this boy looks like. Does he know that she had a really good voice? That she’s smart, kind and is very good at art? Truly a one-of-a-kind girl? How stupid for that boy to reject such a precious girl like her.” She said as she shifted her head to both sides. My head dropped and my lips pursed. I was the stupid boy she was talking about.

…

It's Summer, and I knew I wouldn’t see her often. The knot in my stomach is my constant companion for months now. I messed up, plain and brutal and true. I’m quite regretting everything that I did to Isabella, not because of what my mother said, but because I have rationalized everything, comprehensively analyzed and have come to acceptance of my reality that I truly, deeply like her. And the more I deny and resist it, the stronger and deeper my feelings get. But I messed up. At first, I was terrified of giving Love so much power over me, but now, the feeling of being un-loved by Isabella terrifies me more. Today was the very first time that I’ve thought about travelling back in time. I’ll go back to the time when she confessed and I just rejected her. I’ll redo and rewrite that page. I will hold my head high and shout with the highest volume of my voice, ‘out of million people, I was the lucky one to be like by Isabella Madden’. I should’ve been a man not a coward when I saw her leaving the Prom. I should’ve followed her, pulled her hand and let my arms wrapped around her, giving enough warmth to comfort her and tell her directly and boldly, that she’s the only precious girl in my eyes. I should’ve been brave. I should’ve been honest.

But ‘like’ feels too small now- too small to hold the weight of what I was truly feeling. I love her. I love Isabella Madden. I love her enough to want to change what I carelessly shattered. I love her enough to let myself be vulnerable of love. I love her enough to be a man. I love her enough to be worthy of her. I love her enough to give chance to Love.

…

July 16,1981 as I was driving with Mr. Gibson at the coast near the Roanoke River Lighthouse, when suddenly I saw a familiar bicycle on the side street. I suddenly felt this strange, persuading sense telling me to go out, and find her. I asked Mr. Gibson to stop the car then went out. I walked forward, with intense attention on my surrounding, carrying a massive hope that Isabella’s here and this is my moment. Then, I saw her leaning in the wooden parapet of the lighthouse painting the golden sun set on her sketchbook, facing the vast horizon as her brown long hair caught every light, turning strands to copper gold. Behind the light that hits her face, her pointed nose, gentle eyes and lips are undeniably mesmerizing. It almost stops me from approaching her, and I just want to watch her from afar. She’s quiet, but her beauty screams so loud at that moment.

Then she smiled, softly and gently as she adores her paint. I saw her art, it’s beautiful. But her smile is much more beautiful. Her smile caught my attention more. She has the most beautiful smile. How could I not adore that? I want to stare at that smile forever.

I inhaled the heaviest breath as if I’m going to dive in a deepest ocean before I spoke. “Hi.” She was startled. “What are you doing here?” She asked her smile vanished and her melancholy eyes stared at me. I stared at her for a prolonged pause. I have been replaying this scenario in my head like a cinematic film, rehearsing the words that I’m going to say a hundred times. But the moment I met her eyes, I forgot everything. My mind raced, and my heart pounded against my chest like it wants to escape out of my ribs. I was lost in words. I stared deeper into her eyes and beyond their depths the first thing that I see is vulnerability. It broke the shells of bravery in me, and I became vulnerable too. Her stares remind me of those moments I ignored her; I rejected her, I hurt her. I sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I’m a coward and a jerk for hurting you, Isabella.”

Her eyes were on me, patient and gloomy. “I have never believed in real love. And I lied, I fear Love. I have seen how love destroyed my mother. So, I have constantly built solid walls to not become a victim of love like her. Love is terrifying. But after I met you and have seen your depths, especially your beautiful smile? How you subtly change me? How you make me feel vulnerability, happiness, and fear all at once. I have also learned that somehow Love could also be beautiful. For once, I have felt more alive. Now, I am not terrified of love, I am more terrified of you hating me and not loving me back. For whatever love is supposed to be, I love you, Isabella Madden.” I finished, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I have been holding for too long. She stared expressively at mine; her gloomy stares turned bright like a sunshine in a gloomy day. I saw her smile, it was different, it was like heaven.

She jumped out and embraced me burying herself on to my chest. And my arms with its own brain instantly responded. Then she softly says,” I like you, too. Kellan Porter. A Lot. From the very first moment I saw you, until this very moment.” What she said sent an explosive, irrational joy in my system. A quite declaration that after all I have put her through, her feelings stay the same. All the careful composure I had tried to maintain, faded. I tightened my hands on her waist, pulled her up and spun her like a whirlwind and her body followed to that circled motion. The lightness of her laughter burst out. And the spark in my eyes was undeniable. This wasn’t just a hug; it was a celebration, a physical embodiment of thousands pent-up emotions finally unleashed, freely and loudly. My heart was soaring with so much joy.

I love you, Isabella Madden.