1.2 | Highway of Lights ✓

14 | fairytales

14
f a i r y t a l e s

I WIPE AWAY the tears on my cheeks. I keep walking, not caring about the cars that go pass me one by one. It's funny how I thought I was not lost earlier, and I'm not sure where I'm going now.

"Riley!" A voice booms behind me, it's too hard not to recognize Noah's voice. I let out a heavy breath, and surprisingly, the fact that he chases after me makes me relieved.

My wrist is grabbed by his hand, and his force causes me to turn toward him.

Staring at his unguarded eyes, something in me tugs. He is dealing with a lot, but for the sake of maintaining my ego, I shake my hand off.

"What?" I sound shallow, and I snap my head away.

Noah's shoulders relax. "It's not your fault."

I'm momentarily confused, but after a spin inside my head, I manage to pick up the things that I've said in the car just now.

I bore holes into Noah's eyes. "Then it's your fault?"

He takes a deep breath, his eyes not leaving me. "It's no one's fault."

We both let his words linger in the still air. Tears start forming in my eyes again, this time not because of devastation or rage. I don't even know what those tears mean, because deep down, I know that he's right--it's no one's fault. Things just happen, and we knew that the day would end this morning.

"I guess things just feel too... surreal for me," he says, looking down as if he's ashamed.

I blink away my tears. It's just a day, and I wouldn't believe that Noah and I could be in this state yesterday, neither would I anytime before yesterday. It all happened too swiftly, too divinely.

I've never believed in fairytales. But for the very first time, I did, a few minutes ago. I believed that he was not a passenger, I believed that even though I didn't really know him, I had found the one.

And for the very first time, I was wrong as well.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you." I say as I let out a soft sigh. "You're right, it's all too surreal. I don't even know if anything about today is real, Noah. I don't know."

Noah snaps his eyes up, there's a trace of surprise inside his eyes. "Maybe we could... work this out, you know, let's give each other some time."

"I don't care if you're dangerous or not, Noah. But I understand," I say, looking away.

"Right," he answers.

I think about Noah. Really think about him. What do I know about him? He works at the airport because he likes seeing people who have destinations, he is an architect, he has been to the Grand Canyon, he has a bucket list, he has an ex called Lana, his scar, his past.

But what about how he truly feels about me? His family, his childhood, his friends, his hobbies?

Part of me knows that not leaving tomorrow won't do anything. It can only postpone our separation for a few more days. And what will the separation mean to me? Will it be a heartbreak? Or will it be a relief? There is too much uncertainty.

Being alone is always better than being next to a person and feeling lonely.

"I will leave tomorrow," I say, failing to cover the fact that I'm choking a bit as my voice trembles.

»»————-　➴　————-««

I don't think either of us could fall asleep last night. When I wake up the next morning, the Arizona sunshine filters in through the stained curtains over the window. I hadn't thought of how I would feel now yesterday morning when I agreed to come with Noah—maybe I'd be reluctant to leave this place. But one thing for sure is that I'm confused now.

By the time I've managed to get my act together long enough to pack and get out of my room, Noah gets out of his room as well.

"Morning," he greets, acting like nothing has happened yesterday night.

It's hard to stare at his lazy mop of brown hair and not getting my cheeks warmed.

"Um, morning, Noah," I reply.

The motel corridor is narrow enough to just fit two people. The silence in the air sounds loud as every little buzz can be heard.

"I'll get you breakfast," Noah says after a while.

I nod involuntarily, and before I realize, he's already walking toward the elevators.

We don't talk, nor even make a sound. With the lack of sleep yesterday night, I feel like I've lost my spatial awareness—everything goes so quick as a blink of an eye. I don't even realize that I'm on the elevator before Noah tells me to get out as we've reached the ground floor.

"Riley, what do you want for breakfast?" he asks as we get out of the motel building.

My shoulders slump. "Don't mind me. I can just eat at the airport."

Noah looks at me. He peeks at his car in the outdoor parking lot, then returns his gaze to me.

Sighing, I walk toward his car. What can I possibly do now? I hate myself for not thinking about what will happen. I know that after seven hours, I'm going to be in the sky and Noah's staying in Vegas. I didn't think about what would happen yesterday, and I'm yet making the same mistake now—I'm not considering the near future.

When I grab the car handle, I decide that whatever happens next, life goes on. And when our car starts galloping on the road, it all makes sense to me.

I stare out of the window, low shrubs and mountains passing by.

My room was just right opposite to Noah's last night, but neither of us had the courage to go up and knock on the door. We just lied in bed, listening to the buzzing flicks of light outside our rooms.

I think of how yesterday this time I was talking to Noah in the airport coffee shop, teaching him how to pronounce my name, telling him where I've been to this past year, planning on this spontaneous trip to the Grand Canyon, and no one knew it would end this way.

I smile, a tear slides down on my cheek. The reflection of me appears on the window. Noah told me that we could try. Just give each other some time.

Will things still feel the same after some time? After some distance?

I've never believed in fairytales, and falling in love in just a day is one of them.

But I can always try.

Because when we're finally at the departure gate, our eyes lock. His eyes, pure, beautiful, agonized.

"Riley," Noah says. "Can I... have your number?"

Maybe believing in fairytales isn't that bad at all.

And so I do, I give him my number in New York. I turn around, walking into the gate, feeling his intent gaze of his eyes on my back.