The Girl Who Once Lived

Chapter 6

His PoV

    "Do you understand now?" she asked me leisurely in her thick British accent, her scrutinizing eyes examining me to see if I was paying attention to her words, and I see why. Lily isn't an open book. There are certain chapters in her life that she does not want others to read aloud. There are lines she doesn't want to hear again, sentences she wants to forget. However, this afternoon, she decided to reread those passages so that I might better understand her. She's not the type of girl who enjoys opening up, but she did.

    Trust me, baby, I do.

    "But how sure are you that it was me who penned the letter?" I strike the query that's been playing in my brain for a long to confuse her.

    The smoke from the cigarette clouded her face in my vision, but not the brightness in her eyes at the time. As she shifted in her seat and tucked her hair behind her ears, she let out a competitive smile. She licked her lower lip, making it appear more kissable than ever. Oh, man. "Darling, if remaining late at night with me in the middle of the lonely, frigid corridor isn't enough to convince me that it was you who spilled his honest emotions on that paper soaked in your mother's 'Juicy' fragrance, what else do you need?"

    I scoffed. I cannot believe this girl is real! I shook my head and chuckled since this is outrageously crazy! Everything about it. I sit alongside her. Her memorizing the allegedly hidden love fucking letter I wrote years ago. We can hear the song of our heartbeats without any barriers. Who would have believed this was the future for me?

    "You know... I wrote something for you, too."

    "There is?"

    She smiled. "There are..."

    I threw the cigarette to the floor and stomped on it. Fuck that. She replied to my letter. She wrote letters for me! How come none of it has gotten to me? My palm touched a strand of my hair as I shook my head in sadness. "I apologize."

    If only I knew...

    She let out a deep sigh as she messed with the lace on her black gloves. "It's okay, silly. I left them near the lockers where you sat during our conversations, expecting they would reach you. However, you never came."

    "What's in it?" I almost whisper.

    She stared at me with expressive, mournful, longing eyes. "Sono ancora al ristorante..."

    "Lily..."

    Imagine what might have occurred if I had only returned. Perhaps we could have been so good together. Perhaps we could spend the afternoons viewing the sunset. Perhaps I could paint her pouts and little smiles. I'd wait until she's finished her practice. Perhaps she'd compose a song for me. Maybe...

    "You like me." This is not a question.

    "Why do you think I am here beside you, Isagani?"

    If regret isn't the worst nightmare a man can have, I'm not sure what is. Several what-ifs have been racing through my thoughts. My emotions, which had been imprisoned for years, have suddenly fled. I'm supposed to loathe her. I'm meant to find solace without her. Lily Heart, you were supposed to be the misery of my existence; why am I so in love with you?

    How many nights I have had to gaslight myself I have never glanced at your face so that I could forget you. How many days do I have to inflict my head with lies so that I can forget how to utter your name? Your presence feeds the fire of optimism that was never supposed to burn within me. You shatter my heart, yet why am I still craving for more?