The Interview
1276 Words
Amara told herself she wasn't thinking about Adrian Laurent.
She was thinking about her assignment.
That was different.
At least, that's what she told herself while walking across campus the following afternoon.
“You're smiling.”
Amara looked at Sophia.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I have a lot to smile about.”
Sophia narrowed her eyes.
“You have exactly one thing to smile about.”
Amara sighed.
“You're impossible.”
“And you're avoiding the subject.”
“There is no subject.”
Sophia laughed.
“Fine. Tell yourself that.”
They reached the entrance to the sports centre, and Sophia stopped.
“I have photography class.”
“Lucky you.”
“I'll see you later.”
“Later.”
Sophia walked away, then turned around.
“Amara?”
“Yes?”
“Don't fall in love with a footballer.”
Amara stared at her.
“Goodbye, Sophia.”
Sophia grinned.
“I'm just protecting you.”
Then she disappeared around the corner.
Amara shook her head.
*She's ridiculous.*
She walked toward the football pitch.
Adrian was already there.
He was wearing his training kit, his hair slightly messy, and his attention focused on the players warming up.
When he noticed her, he smiled.
“You came back.”
“I said I would.”
“Most people say things they don't mean.”
“I'm not most people.”
He looked at her for a second.
“I noticed.”
Something about the way he said it made her heart beat slightly faster.
Amara ignored it.
“Can we do the interview?”
“Absolutely.”
They moved to the empty stands.
Amara opened her notebook.
“Ready?”
“Go ahead.”
She started with simple questions.
How long had he played football?
When did he become captain?
What did he think of the new season?
What did he expect from his teammates?
Adrian answered easily.
He was confident, articulate, and surprisingly thoughtful.
Then Amara asked, “What's the hardest part about being captain?”
He leaned back.
“Knowing everyone expects you to have the answers.”
“And you don't?”
“Not always.”
She smiled.
“At least you're honest.”
“Sometimes.”
“That's not very reassuring.”
He laughed.
For a moment, the interview didn't feel like an assignment.
It felt like two people talking.
Amara lowered her pen.
“Yesterday you said football is what you'd choose if nobody else had an opinion.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Adrian looked toward the pitch.
“Because when I'm playing, nobody cares about my surname.”
Amara stayed quiet.
He continued.
“They care about whether I make the pass. Whether I score. Whether I help the team win.”
“And your family cares about something else?”
“My father does.”
“What does he want?”
Adrian's jaw tightened slightly.
“For me to join the family business.”
“After graduation?”
“Eventually.”
“And what do you want?”
“Football.”
His answer came immediately this time.
Amara studied him.
“Then what's stopping you?”
He smiled without humor.
“Family isn't always something you can simply walk away from.”
The words stayed with her.
She understood more than he probably realized.
Not the wealthy-family part.
But the feeling of having people imagine your future before you've even had the chance to choose it.
“So,” Adrian said, “what made you want to become a journalist?”
Amara smiled.
“Stories.”
“That simple?”
“Not exactly.”
She closed her notebook.
“I like people. I like understanding why they do things. Everyone has a story, but sometimes the most interesting stories are the ones nobody notices.”
Adrian looked at her.
“Like mine?”
“Maybe.”
He smiled.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I haven't figured you out yet.”
“Maybe I'm not supposed to be figured out.”
“Everyone can be figured out.”
“That's a dangerous thing for a journalist to believe.”
“Why?”
“Because some people might surprise you.”
Amara smiled.
“I don't mind surprises.”
They sat quietly for a moment.
Then Adrian reached into his bag and pulled out a football.
He held it toward her.
“Here.”
Amara stared at it.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Keep it.”
“Why?”
“So you remember me.”
She took the football.
“I don't think forgetting you is going to be a problem.”
The words came out before she could stop them.
Adrian's expression changed.
Neither of them spoke.
Then he smiled.
“Good.”
Amara looked away.
She suddenly found the football very interesting.
---
That evening, Amara sat with Sophia in their favourite café near campus.
Sophia was scrolling through photographs on her camera while Amara typed notes from the interview.
“You've been writing that paragraph for ten minutes,” Sophia said.
“I'm thinking.”
“You're staring at the same sentence.”
Amara looked at her.
“You're distracting me.”
“I'm not doing anything.”
“You're breathing loudly.”
Sophia burst out laughing.
“Okay. What's his name?”
Amara sighed.
“You already know his name.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Adrian.”
Sophia smiled.
“There it is.”
“Please stop.”
“You like him.”
“I barely know him.”
“You don't have to know someone for your brain to decide they're attractive.”
Amara tried not to smile.
“I'm here to write an article.”
“Of course.”
“That's why I'm talking to him.”
“Of course.”
“And interviewing him.”
“Obviously.”
“And—”
Sophia raised a hand.
“I believe you.”
Amara narrowed her eyes.
“You don't.”
“No.”
They both laughed.
For a few minutes, they returned to their work.
Then Sophia became quiet.
“My mum's working late tonight,” she said.
Amara looked up.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired.”
“You can call me later.”
Sophia smiled.
“I know.”
That was the thing Amara liked most about their friendship.
There was no pressure to fill every silence.
Sometimes they talked for hours.
Sometimes they simply sat together.
And somehow, both felt the same.
Home.
---
That night, Amara was almost finished with her article when her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She hesitated before opening the message.
**You forgot your notebook.**
Amara frowned.
Then another message appeared.
**Adrian:** *I guess you'll have to come back tomorrow.*
She smiled.
She typed:
**Amara:** *You could just bring it to me.*
The reply came almost immediately.
**Adrian:** *Where's the fun in that?*
Amara shook her head.
**Amara:** *You're annoying.*
Three dots appeared.
Then:
**Adrian:** *And yet you're smiling.*
Amara stopped.
He couldn't possibly know that.
She looked around her room.
No one was there.
She typed:
**Amara:** *Goodnight, Adrian.*
His response came a moment later.
**Adrian:** *Goodnight, Amara.*
She placed the phone beside her.
For the first time since arriving in London, Westbridge didn't feel quite so unfamiliar.
Maybe it was Sophia.
Maybe it was the feeling that her dream of becoming a journalist was finally beginning.
Or maybe it was the fact that somewhere on campus was a boy who seemed determined to become part of her story.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD