I Do

Chapter 31

Hey my cakelets <3 It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry... writer's block is just horrible. But thank you so much for your patience.

I hope your holidays and New Years were absolutely lovely! You certainly made mine amazing.

Dedication... @ImJustNadine because her comment (like many of yours) BLEW MY MIND LAST CHAPTER. YOU PEOPLE... YOU'RE INCREDIBLE. AND I LOVE YOU.

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Chapter 31 *2m 1d*

-Hallie-

   My posture is upright and rigid, my glistening grey eyes are bright and perky, and yet my mind is swamped with boredom as Professor Bergen sweeps into a tangent about the mysteries of the human thought process. It's not that Bergen is a poor instructor, nor is he one of those incredibly old professors that wheezes with every word and ought to be shipped off to a nursing home immediately. In fact, his enthusiasm for the subject makes the class almost, almost, fascinating. Unfortunately, my attention is diverted from anything the professor might be saying.

   A towering stack of textbooks rest upon the ink-stained and pencil-scarred surface of my desk, angled precisely to shield me from view as I stealthily retrieve my phone from my messenger bag. After hesitantly peeking up to assure that our instructor is still rambling obliviously -- the man has this odd sort of hatred for cell phones -- I quickly tap the mail app and refresh my inbox. Again.

  Aside from the muted scraping sound of feet shuffled against the tile floor, the occasional whisper of a bemused student and Professor Bergen's rumbling voice, the classroom is utterly silent. In fact, if you train your ears just right, you could probably catch the sound of my splintering heart. Again.

   Within every ten-minute interval of the past three days, I've been anxiously reloading my email in a hopeless effort to receive any response from Harry. In the middle of the night, I'll jolt awake, breathless and frantic as I urgently scramble to check my email. And with each time that no mail alerts appear, I'm flooded with an overwhelming sense of desperation.

   At this point, I'd prefer to get a reply consisting of 'No thanks, I hate you' than to endure this blank, endless silence. Well... no, I take that back, actually.

   Somehow, though, despite all of this, I have the exhilarating premonition that Harry’s response will be a confession of his own love for me. After all, if fate guided me into falling irrevocably in love with him, if fate convinced me to share my feelings at long last, fate would certainly make him feel the same way. Wouldn't it? That's the least it could do.

   My thumb jabs viciously at the screen, as though I can bully my phone into submission. Still, nothing. Briefly, I attempt to focus on my professor's ever-so enrapturing speech, in the hopes that good behavior might somehow please God and compel him to take pity on my turbulent love life. But I'm helplessly distracted.

   An elbow nudges me, drawing my attention away from the stubbornly empty iPhone screen. I recognize her immediately, from its crisp blue cuff and immaculately ironed sleeve, as Isabelle, the girl who sits directly to my left. The quiet brunette seems pleasant enough, if somewhat shy. I arch my brow questioningly. In response, she cautiously dips her head and flicks her eyes at our approaching instructor.