▄▄ ˗ˏˋ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 'ˎ˗ ──
IN WHICH , ── ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
after Spider-man almost breaks
into her window, Amala has to
balance her two new lives: the
life where she knows him and the
life where she falls for Peter Parker . .
▄▄ *+...
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CHAPTER NINE; lavender bouquet
"OH, MY GOD. IS HE HOT?"
Exhaustion pools beneath Amala's eyelids. With a stellar three hours of sleep, she's beyond tired.
Sitting in History, her brain can barely register the teacher speaking. Everything sounds like a speaker put underwater — muffled, far and groggy.
Her appearance is... well. If looks could mirror your feelings, Amala thinks she'd be represented pretty spot on. She sports simple black sweatpants and an oversized Nicki Minaj hoodie, hair tossed together in a messy bun and random socks tucked into her beaten up sneakers . Her face is bare without an ounce of makeup — just navy bags under her eyes. To put it bluntly, Amala looks she she'd been dragged into an alleyway by her hair and gotten ravaged by a family of street cats.
After Spider-man's surprise visit, Amala had been left with a head full of thoughts. At first, sleep came easy; exertion had made her bones lazy and she needed to recharge. However, hours later she would wake up in a sweat and sleep would evade her for the rest of night.
After tossing and turning for what seemed like an eon, she gave up. She would have to wake up in a couple hours anyway, so why bother? Instead, Amala had sat on her balcony until sunrise, nothing but a hoodie and some fluffy socks to keep her warm against the bite of April mornings. The sun rose and the sky split into shades of orange and pink. By that point, Amala took it as a sign to go back inside and get ready for what would be a dreadful day of school.
Now sitting on the familiar hard, plastic desk, Amala realizes that was an understatement. Today was beyond dreadful. Her head feels like it's been filled with lead — it's so heavy that it might just roll off.
To make matters worse, Akira won't stop pestering her with questions about her second encounter with the hero.
"Did you see his abs?" Akira swoons besides her, leaning in to whisper.
"No." She replies tersely.
"What about his hands? Oh my god, did you see them? Did they have veins?" Asks Akira once more.
Amala could sense her best friend's drool run on to her arm.
"No." Says Amala once more.
"Fine, fine. What about his face? Did you at least get a little peak?"
"Akira." Amala hisses.
Her best friend leans back, taken aback and leaves space between them.
"Sorry..." she begins saying.
"No, no." Amala interrupts. "I'm sorry. I'm just -" she groans, "so dead right now."
Slight concern laces Akira's voice, "Did you not sleep?"
