Unhelpful Guide To Senior Year | ✓

8

For the past few weeks, after the Carter incident, I had tried and hopefully succeeded at getting closer to Daniyal.

I badgered him to come over for the project. I tried to get him to sit a little while more after the day's work was done. At school, it was a bit different because he was constantly busy talking to someone, typical Daniyal.

The whole point of pestering Daniyal at the end of the day was to make the seconds count.

I would suddenly stop walking one day when we were returning from school and point at a tree with yellow leaves not ready to let it go.

I'll get him to stop studying while we're sitting on the roof and point at the clouds with a unique shape and just get him to lay down next to me, shoulders brushing and look at the sky.

I had gone over to his house at Halloween and we'd secretly rated the kids' costume as we laughed.

I showed him the little things in life.

I made him see good things. I made him see the aesthetics. I made him see the smiles.

I really hope this was working because we are closer than ever and the weight of him leaving will break my spine.

Right now, we are sitting in my room, drinking strawberry shakes as he searches about the contemporary theme of Hamlet.

I regret seeing him because....oh God.

His beige mock-turtleneck is fitted around his lean body and looks amazing against his skin. His hair falls just above his hazel eyes, which he makes no attempt to sweep away and his eyelashes make me jealous.

He is biting his lower lip as his nose is slightly scrunched up in concentration and at that moment I am hit with reality.

I suddenly become aware of him in front of me and how much I don't want him to ever leave. I want to hold him close.

At that moment, I finally realise how much I like the little things about Daniyal and even his little quirks make up for something big.

The way he sometimes glances over to me during class. The way he has a habit of biting his lips. His hands always seem to look for something to fidget with. I like how he is practically head over heels for tea. I like how he seems to always have a bad joke or pun ready. I like his stream of laughter that flows and compels you to join him.

I like him. A lot.

I am broken out of my epiphany with his playful tone.

"You done with staring or should I take up another pose to keep you entertained?" He asks with a cocky smirk and I feel like smacking myself in the face.

How did he even know? He didn't even look up! Am I that obvious?

Instead of saying something I just pout at him and squint at him.

He finally looks up and shoots into seemingly endless laughter.

I get very confused as he proceeds to throw back his head and tears start to form in his eyes.

I feel a pink tinge on my cheeks as he starts to shake and suddenly the glass of shake in his hand falls.

But not only does it fall, but it also leaves a giant stain on the front of his sweater.

This stops his laughter alright as his pries the shirt off from where it was sticking to his skin.

"Suits you well," I got a bit offended by his outburst.

He just shakes his head and lifts his sleeve towards my face.

He brushes it over my top lip and smiles a crooked smile.

"Next time you have a milk moustache try not to pout," he says and I realise why he was laughing.

He stands up and looks at the stain on his sweater.

Sighing, he sweeps it around his neck and takes it off.

My eyes widen and I look away but not before seeing his bare chest.

"Can you stop doing that?" I squeak. What is wrong with me? It's not like he is naked or something. You literally a second ago admitted you have a crush on him my conscience pointed out.

Oh yes.

"Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?" He asks and instead of covering himself up as he should, he walks towards me and I gulp.

He bends down in front of me.

"Is this better?" He says and it gets hard to breathe.

"In no way is this better," I tell him with a voice much stronger than the scatter in my brain.

I break contact with his engaging ones and my eyes flit down to his hands and now my heart truly stops.

I grab his wrist angrily and pull it up to inspect it more closely.

He tries to pull away his hand but my rage makes me stronger and I meet my eyes with his.

"Why?" I blurt and look at the four parallel cuts on his wrist. They are still red so I am guessing they are recent.

"It's nothing," he once again tries to pull away his hand.

"Why'd you do this?" I ask again and then slowly let go of his hand.

I thought I was making progress. I thought that maybe he might reconsider leaving this all behind. But, the cuts on his hand made something ache inside of me.

"It was in the flow of the moment. I swear it won't happen again. I swear," his anguish and regret are real but the cuts are too.

"You know right, that I am here for you? Do you know that I am hating this? Talk to me Daniyal," I say desperately.

He just takes my hand in his and rests his forehead against it.

"I know now," he says and brushes his lips against it.

I can feel my heartbeat quickening and rage receding.

::::

A/n: New chapter up! I hope you liked it.

The book is coming to an end and I feel a bit sad about it:(( I hope you all are liking this book as much as I enjoy writing it.

::::