Chapter Twenty-eight

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a u r o r a f o r s y t h e

I stare at the window for about five minutes now. I'm still deciding whether I should go and see George or not. I don't want to keep him waiting there for nothing because I know how it felt like but I also don't want people to make wrong stories and speculate what's happening between him and I.

We're very good friends and I don't want to ruin our friendship.

I'm wearing my casual clothes; dark gray yoke mini skirt and black off-shouldered top.

I briskly ran to the slightly-damaged Quidditch Pitch and saw him sitting in the middle of the bench. He turned his head towards my way and smiled, a soft but weak smile flashed onto his innocent face, waving his hand that made me run faster.

"How's your day been, George?" I queried breathlessly as I sit beside him, catching my breath.

"I feel brilliant. What about you?" he threw back, offering me a box of custard pies but I refused.

"Alright, unlike the other days before." I sighed.

A cold breeze of November blew that made me squirm, hugging myself.

"Do you want to wear my sweater?" he offered.

That's the difference between Malfoy and George. George asks first if I want to wear it, but Malfoy, he will just cover me with his coat whether I like it or not, to make me warm.

However, George asked me to make sure it is fine with me.

"No, George, it's fine." I declined, shaking my head, "So why did you want to talk to me again?" I quizzed, avoiding an eye contact with him.

"Nothing. I just want to talk to you. You know, to bond with you more and to end this cumbersome distance that affects our friendship." he chuckled, "How's life going? How's you and Malfoy? How does it feel after you got tortu-"

"Woah, George, calm down, calm down. Are you being chased by dementors?" I joked, "Well," I exhaled heavily, "life's not going according to plan," I pulled my eyes away, gazing at the broken scenery. "and to be honest, what's happening to me and Malfoy." I looked at George once again. "I don't think I can still fix it. I loved him and he broke my heart and he still does." I beamed, a sham one.

"Are you still hoping?" he uttered softly, gently lifting my face.

"Of course I do, George." I flashed a gloomy smile, "I'm still holding on to his promises, but it hurts sometimes, you know? I don't know whether to wait for him or not."

"That's what I am to you, Aurora. I'm still waiting, hoping that someday, somehow you'd be mine." he said, flashing a hurtful smile. "Let me clarify this. I'm asking you this as a friend, alright?" he wheezes.

"Aren't you tired of waiting?" I questioned, "What if I never become yours? What if you're just wasting your time waiting for me and it will never happen?" I asked hypothetically.

"What's important to me is the fact that I waited for you." he replied shortly, flashing an authentic smile from his heart.

Minutes of silence had ticked by. The cold wind blew again.

He's right. It's not important if I wasted my time waiting. What matters the most is the fact that I waited. Waiting was the worst part of life, yes, but the best part of life is having that someone who is worth waiting for.

I smiled out of nowhere but George doesn't seem to notice.

"Five years from now, how do you see yourself?" he queried while he crumples the empty box of custard pie, resting his elbows on top of his knees.

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