Only The Brave ⟨⟨ʟᴏᴜɪs ᴛᴏᴍʟɪɴsᴏɴ⟩⟩

⟨⟨ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ⟩⟩

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ
Everywhere

The continuous symphony of traffic flitted through her cracked open window. The day was just hot enough for a stuffiness to develop within the walls of the room, requiring the sharp breeze to permeate through the opening despite its climate-typical iciness. Hooting and garbled conversation became the expected background music to her days inside – and all the outside ones as well. It wasn't as suffocating as she had feared but she had been projecting a New York-esque atmosphere of cosmopolitan mayhem. Fortunately, London offered a more subdued air of busyness (unless it was a football night, then no one had respect for the rare bystander who didn't join the celebrations in favour of solitude.)

The apartment was smaller than she was accustomed to but something in its quaintness settled Elora's unsteady hands. Cold walls and smoothed-over floors (slippery from years of trodden paths) left the bare rooms with a frosty air she was still re-acquainting herself with. Her boring layout and blank decor were statements of her hesitancy to settle in, a resting fear that she may lose her dream just as she had once before. 
A poetic thought that the empty apartment reflected the echoing chambers of her heart floated through her mind as she gazed over the view and that was confirmation in itself that she couldn't risk her isolation any longer. 

Elora was not sad. In fact, she was currently living the life she had yearned for since she understood the idea of living in different places. Her narrative of a strong, independent woman was thriving as she navigated the difficulties of finding her place in the literary community, whilst still maintaining her obligations to the university. She was living alone because she could. She worked so much because she was passionate. And she definitely wasn't dating because it didn't fit the phase of her current existence. 

Sure, there were bouts of melancholy in which she stared at old photos with the aching pain of nostalgia. Maybe her prior willing lack of sleep had morphed into a problematic inability to welcome the vulnerability of slumber as her mind freewheeled through the past. It could have also been so that every single day there was a pang of betraying sentimentality as she walked through the streets of utopian London.
Elora was not sad though. 

2018 was a year of great things for the young woman. Her Master had been achieved with unprecedented intrigue and curiosity, propelling her into the offered assistant position in the Psychology faculty of University College of London. Her beloved thesis had grown into an intense study on the psyche of the general public in relation to pop culture and celebrities; an idea the university had taken to swimmingly. They insisted that she had a place in their group of Psychology experts and urged her to take that step further in her career. 

That is what led Elora Rayne to stand in a slightly too cold apartment in Central London, a heavy laptop bag weighing down her shoulder along with the bleakness of a long day. Coffee stained her scarf and she had made the mistake of walking past the botanical gardens; she wasn't sure whether the physical pain or her emotional 'trauma' ailed her more. What she could figure out, however, was that she needed a nap and to stop reminiscing on times so far in the past she struggled to remember specifics. (That was a lie. She could recall every minuscule detail but the suppressive denial was easier.)

As she dropped the bag gently beside her desk, glancing mournfully at the pile of papers teetering on the edge, the joking One Direction ringtone blared from her phone. Despite the dreary exhaustion in her limbs, she rushed to accept the call before Louis' segment could be heard.
Her breathless hello was met with the typical chuckle of her fellow academic, "I didn't know I was important enough for you to run at the thought of talking to me."
Ignoring his remark, she rolled her eyes, "Simmy, I swear that you call me more now that I live in London despite seeing me practically every day."
"Yeah, yeah, don't reject my friendship or else you'll have no friends."
"Why are you blackmailing me?"
"It's a sign of my love and affection."

Her laugh came out in a gust of air as she moved to the kitchen to switch on the kettle and take out a mug. After asking what the purpose of the call was, she had to listen to winding complaints of her inconsideration towards his kindness before he warned her that university lecturers would have a meeting the next day.
"Why does nobody think to tell me these things?" she groaned as she opened the fridge and ignored his retort that that was his job.
"I need to make food but I don't know how," she continued to whine whilst Simon's eye roll was practically audible.
"I would have made supper if you had just moved in with me again."
"You were ardently vocal in your objection to that idea," she responded with a gaze trained on her minimal groceries, "so don't act like a saint now."
"You know I was joking. It's in the bylines of our contract that I can't ever be nice to you but you are more than welcome to live here."

She smiled at the statement, her heart warm with the knowledge that she could always rely on Simon to lift her spirits in his arb ways.
"I know, Simmy, and I'm grateful. It's just that— You know I need to start afresh. I need my journey here to be my own, free from prior experiences." 
The silence she received in response was warning enough for her to prepare herself for the rabbit hole the conversation was directed down. 
Finishing the procedure of tea-making, she listened as Simon inhaled, "You know that you can't do that."
"Excuse me," she moved to the couch, "I firmly believe in my ability to navigate this existence by myself." 
He sighed, "You know that's not what I mean. You shouldn't avoid it."

Her reflexive response was to make a quip about his incoherency but she was aware that it would always circle back to her addressing the issue at hand anyway.
"I'm not avoiding it, I'm simply," she paused contemplatively, "moving on with my life; focusing on my future the same way he did."
His sharp inhale reminded him to watch her tone, "I thought you said you weren't hurt?"

Elora had to stop and recollect herself before she derailed the conversation. It was easy to get lost in the loose-tongued expression of resentment that she actively avoided. It was true that she had made bold statements about remaining unharmed by Louis' silence and she ardently tried to believe it to be so. Elora prided herself on her ability to remain emotionally objective, especially when she lost friendships. The unfortunate reality of life was that sometimes the people you want in your story until the epilogue are just meant to be there for a chapter. She had hoped Louis to be a main character in her journey but the progression of her life happened to disagree and she had to resign herself to his temporary role. 

"I'm not, I'm not," she reassured, "I understand that, you know, I probably was just someone he needed at that time and didn't fit into his future. So, I'm just trying to figure out my future as well."
"I just don't want you to spend all your time pretending that it didn't happen."
"I don't think I can," her laugh felt strangled even to her own ears, "There's only so many people who fall in love with a megastar and promptly get rejected." 
"To be fair," he reasoned, "You didn't know that's how you felt until nearly, like, a year later."
"When I figured it out doesn't matter, the situation is the same regardless."
"I'm just saying: he didn't really reject your love."
"Simon, he rejected me. Feelings or not, my individual person was discontinued as a member of his life."

He paused as Elora realised she had gotten defensive. Her murmured apology got a hum in response before Simon remarked that her behaviour didn't line up with her propagated memo.
"I'll bring it up in the next board meeting," she responded before bidding him adieu in lieu of getting through some of her work for the day. His farewell was reluctant but he ended the call regardless, simply reminding her that it was her turn to buy the coffees for lunch the next day. 

When her phone turned silent and the absence of companionship in her apartment became prevalent, all Elora could do was exhale in hopes to clear some tension from her chest. Shuffling over to stare out the window, she watched the assemblage of pedestrians move through their lives on the cobblestone walkways with the vague cloud of sonder in her mind. The brief glimpse of a figure reflective of Louis Tomlinson haunted her periphery and it was enough to shock the panicked need to pretend everything was fine back into her actions.