You Would Never Know

III | Guilt Tripped

I jolted awake to a burning smell and loud crashing noises and immediately started running towards the source of havoc.

Entering the kitchen, I saw Abel waving a napkin, trying to ease the smoke but failing miserably at doing so, and once he gave up, he finally noticed my presence.

"Oh, hi there!" His eyes are wide open, and his voice is unusually pitched, but it doesn't make a significant difference considering his deep voice.

"In what world do you think you can bake?"

He nervously chuckled. "Well, I thought I should welcome you properly by baking us some chocolate chip cookies, but I don't think they're edible anymore."

Here's something I won't deny: My heart almost fluttered. However, considering how Abel is a hazard when it comes to baking, I think I just risked my life by sleeping over.

"I think me and you need to establish some rules if we ever live together, and one of them is that Abel and baking should not be in the same sentence."

I turned around and left him to deal with the mess.

Before I was too far, I heard a disappointed mumble, "If we ever..." Is he seriously stuck on that?

At times, I misunderstand the way he acts and talks to me or about me, but I won't dwell on it anymore, or else I'll give myself more pain, the irreversible kind.

I went back to the room to change into my old clothes before leaving.

When I went back down, I saw him waiting for me, clearly wanting to initiate something.

"Just say it." He got closer, ushered me to the living room, and sat down with me on the couch.

"I know this arranged marriage is something we're both not satisfied with, but I still think we need to act like people who are getting married."

"People who are getting married are in love; they're not in an arranged marriage they've discussed for eons."

"Well, we agreed, and we're stuck together, so we might as well act like that."

"Well, since you're persisting on the classics, you pick the house and ring, and then let's just get married in a courthouse or on a beach. It doesn't make a difference at this point," I said, shaking my head.

For a bit, his eyes softened, but they still held determination and an emotion I'm familiar with but still too scared to give a name to.

We're both aware of how I don't associate myself with the details of such events; even my birthdays are celebrated with quietness and solitude and little to no effort.

Maybe this is why I find him fascinating—even when I spit venom or come up with an idea that most would frown upon, he chooses to be patient and love me.

But truly, I can no longer do that, put in such effort, even if I wanted to, even if we're allowed to, because being involved in such things won't be enough anymore. My acts of love and care have drastically changed—changes that have made my love for him differ.

I couldn't get too comfortable with Abel, or else I'd let everything slip away and all my effort would vanish into thin air.

Comfort makes you say too much; that's what I learned after I spilled everything to Diana when she visited me two years ago.

"It's fine, I'll do it; I'll pick the house, the ring, the family car, the cake for the wedding, the bouquet you'll throw, and even your wedding dress if you want. Thank God it's me you're marrying because I'm sure no sane person would handle you." He rolled his eyes and laid his head back on the couch.