A Love Like Ours

Chapter 1

(Warning: This is the SEQUEL to my other story Out of the Ordinary. So if you haven't read that yet, I'd HIGHLY suggest reading it first. This will be very confusing for you otherwise :)

The ground seemed to move up to meet us as we descended, no longer suspended by wind and clouds and velocity. It was always the most thrilling part of a flight for me—the landing. The knowing that there was something waiting for me once we touched down. A whole new place to see and feel and experience.

But landing in New York was something else entirely. It always was, from the very first time I'd seen the city skyline from above. The skyscrapers reaching up like they were trying to touch us, knowing that we would be walking among them, among the millions of people who always walked among them—and I'd already felt small.

I didn't mind feeling small, though. Especially not that first time, when so many things were happening and all of my dreams were coming true and at times, it felt like I was growing too big to fit inside my own body anymore—like I was growing too big to escape the world's notice anymore. Small was good then. Small was comfortable. Small was reassuring in a world that saw me too fully. A world that saw me constantly. A world that could sometimes be cruel.

New York City was always a haven, of sorts. It didn't have the flash and glam of laid-back Los Angeles. It was more fast-paced than that. It didn't have all the comforts of home. It was a little too hard and jaded for that. But it had an energy that I wanted to become part of, even before everything had happened for us. It was an energy that became all the more enticing when I knew that she was a part of it.

I would never forget that first time coming here after her, knowing that she was here, and that I was meant to see her. Worrying that the surprise would somehow be ruined. Worrying that she wouldn't want to see me. Worrying that things weren't going to go the way I so desperately wanted them to.

But they did.

And they were better than I ever could have imagined.

The whole plane jolted and bumped as it hit the runway, and I clutched the soft bit of napkin between my fingers, willing it not to go anywhere as we skidded to a slow roll. Excitement filled my stomach. It always did upon landing. But especially when I landed here. Especially when I knew she was so close.

I glanced down at the napkin, worn and creased now from sitting pressed between the pages of my journal for so long. Years, I had to remind myself, tracing a finger over the lines of her handwriting. The handwriting that was small and neat, but rushed somehow, like she could barely contain her excitement while writing it.

That day was still so clear to me. Still so vivid in my mind. The way she looked. The things she said. The way she smiled. So beautiful. So uninhibited. So sure of herself. Still, it wasn't hard to read her. Her whole chest blushed when I'd blurted that she was cute, and I had to work hard not to stare. I hadn't meant to say it. But she was there, after I'd thought I'd lost her, after I'd seen her walk through the park, the world reflected in the blue of her eyes, and I'd lost her. When I spotted her in that coffee shop, I knew I had to take advantage. Knew that I had to push through my nerves because I couldn't let her slip through my fingers.

And miraculously, I didn't.

Not for a while anyway.

We'd come together again after that first meeting in a way that was still unfathomable to me. But I haven't since turned my nose up at the thought of things being meant to be. The idea of someone being meant for you, and that even if you lose them, if it's meant to be, you'll come back together again.

I remembered the way it felt when she'd disappeared from that shop. The fans had dispersed from around me, taking their phones and their hugs and their well-wishes with them. But they'd taken her, too. And as much as they'd given me over the years, as much as they'd loved and supported and cared for me, I couldn't forgive them for taking her from me in that moment.