After First Love

1: Airport

*rewritten* 

NEVAEH

20th July

I don't know why I'm here. I don't know what I'm doing. Knox Ashford is the last person I want to see right now. The last person I want to associate myself with. But of course, as always, things in my life are hopelessly out of my control.

I shouldn't be here, I should be spending time with my family and friends after being away for so long, and Knox is in no way, shape or form, my family or my friend. Family and friends don't desert you, don't leave you in your time of need without saying goodbye. They don't use you.

Knox abandoned me, he left me without a note, a call or a text. He broke me and then left, not even sparing a glance in my direction as he went on to enjoy his British college experience, taking my heart and setting it on fire. That was what Knox did, he set things on fire. He made you feel hot, made your skin burn, made you sweat, he ignited feelings within you that you didn't know could be that strong, he set your heart and body ablaze, and left scars when he got too close.

And now I have to pick him up from the airport. Not have to as my mother keeps reminding me. It's completely up to me, she says. It's my call, she says. But if it was truly my call, I wouldn't be here in the first place. I would be in my apartment, drinking beer with my friends and planning how to hide my hangover from my parents and my nosy agent.

There is a list of infinite transportation options that Knox could have: an Uber, a taxi, walking. But it would seem weird if I blatantly refused to pick him up, seeing as we were formerly best friends, and our families think that title still holds. My parents would catch on to my intense hostility and I would be forced to admit to them that everything I went through at the end of senior year was directly related to Knox, someone so dear and near to our family. It's better to let them think that the only reason I'm filled with such burning rage for Knox is because we haven't talked in 6 years. It's better to keep the peace.

It's better this way.

The sun beats down on me, as sizzling and torrid as ever. The sweltering heat causes beads of sweat to drip down my face and onto my phone, which is being held in one hand while a sign with 'Knox Ashford' scribbled hastily on it dangles from my left.

Even outside the airport, people are everywhere, causing a raucous, orchestrating a cacophony of sounds, the air is heavy with chaos and the smell of sweat and plane seats. Within the hustle and bustle, I find calmness. I've always been at peace in crowded spaces. Crowded spaces mean I don't have to listen to my own thoughts, I can just focus on everything else around me and get lost in other people's activities, and their stories.

I glance down at my phone for a few seconds, alerted by another 'did you find him yet?' text from my mom when a shadow falls over me.

"Who might you be?" a deep voice asks me, a voice accompanied by a scent of sweat and husky cologne. I squint up at the figure above me, his frame being luminated by the harsh Californian sun.

The man above me is muscular and gorgeous. He has light stubble coating his chin, and is wearing a dark green shirt that tightens around his arms with every small movement he makes, and gray sweatpants. His skin is more tan than you would expect from someone who spent the last six years in England, and his eyes are still as hypnotic as ever; a beautiful swirl of green, brown and gold. The black baseball cap on his head does practically nothing to cover his wavy black hair, the color of ebony. Gorgeous. As always.

When our eyes finally meet, his glaze over in recognition.

"Nevaeh-" He takes a step back to take me in, as I take in his voice, it's gruff and guttural and makes my spine shiver, "you look different."