Chapter 1: Rush

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"The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere; they're in each other all along."
  —Rumi


Beep, beep!

The sound of an obnoxiously loud horn cut through the otherwise quiet air of my apartment complex's parking lot. Simultaneously, my cell phone started vibrating with alerts of new text messages. My phone, however, was mostly unnecessary in this regard, for I knew it was Laina, and I knew we were running late, but I was almost finished. A few more minutes were all that I needed.

Rare was the occasion when I would be the one to run late, but it had been another rough night. As such, the effects of the previously-downed sleeping pills had not yet quite subsided in me.

There was simply no way I would have had enough time to make myself a pot of coffee, so I settled for temporarily dealing with the blurry vision and sensation of heavy limbs. With any luck, I thought, getting some fresh air in my face would have been just what I needed to wake up and feel better.

From the parking lot came more beeping. As the seconds dragged on, it became more aggressive in nature.

Hurriedly, I finished curling the last section of black, dried ends and carelessly spritzed some perfume onto my neck, before running down the townhome's stairs and slipping into some shoes. In a staggering motion, I flung the front door wide open to reveal Laina standing outside of it, with her impatient hand hovering in the air, about to knock.

I had always thought Laina to be a beautiful creature, but standing before me as she was, my partner-in-crime looked particularly gorgeous. Her hair, flawlessly styled. Her choice of attire, feminine and fresh. A black-and-white, floral-print tank top complemented the slightly loose, white shorts on Laina's small—almost elven—frame.

It seemed that she had heeded my advice after all, to forgo the homemade "Punk Hunks Welcome" t-shirt. Messy glue and blue glitter—on tight, black cotton—could not have come close to the beauty of her final look. For just a second longer, I studied her.

My decision to take in Laina's appearance, nevertheless, resulted only in added exasperation.

"What are you doing?!" she asked, practically huffing the words. "I've been waiting almost twenty minutes! Let's go! We're going to hit traffic!"

"I woke up late. I'm sorry!" A pathetic excuse, maybe, but that was all I could muster.

Past her shoulder, and toward Laina's Volvo, I momentarily glanced. If time had been on our side, perhaps we could have dealt with the old car's inability to hit sixty-five miles per hour.

But time was not on our side. Not on that night.

"I'll drive," I promised my anxious best friend. It produced an odd feeling within me, to see her in such an unfamiliar, frazzled state. "We'll get there in time."

Saying it almost had me believing it for myself.

Into my tensed palm, I gripped my own set of keys as Laina and I hopped into the black Civic—which had been my first and only large purchase since moving to Arizona. Like her car, mine was definitely getting older, but my transportation-providing piece of machinery had not yet lost its capacity for speed. Of that, we would need plenty.

Hastily, I buckled and turned the radio down, just before peeling out of the parking space and aiming us toward the highway. While glancing at the vehicle's clock—with neon-blue numbers mocking me—I silently and inconspicuously calculated how much time we had. In all likelihood, we would miss the first opening act, but if I could competently mix momentum with caution, we would definitely catch the second—Laina's new favorite band from the United Kingdom. 

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