Her

-Her-

The warm afternoon sun filters through the honey tinted leaves of the large oak tree. A late summer breeze drifts through the windows of the tree house, a slightly chilly gust, reminding me and her that these warm summer days would soon come to an end. I rest my head in her lap and she runs her fingers through my hair. Her dark hair occasionally falls onto my head and we would both laugh as she playfully brushes it away from my face. Her hand is in mine and I trace patterns on her palm.

She smells like lavender and honey and coffee and loves wearing blue sundresses with little flowers on them. We bask in the warmth, of each other, of summer and speaking of nothing, but everything at the same time. Pieces of attempted conversation float through the air, fragments of thoughts and unfinished sentences. We both don’t make an attempt to speak, both too intoxicated in sunlight to form full sentences. So we sit in silence. This silence is comforting. I would do anything to stay like this forever.

I remember when we first met. High-school. I was a nervous wreck. She was excited to make new friends, try new things; be adventurous. She was like a star. The star on the top of the Christmas tree. Beautiful to look at, but always kept away far from reach. Our pairing couldn’t have been more out of the blue. It was for a Science class that we crossed paths. She came late to class and we were paired up together to work on an assignment about something– I can’t remember what it was. When I was near her I couldn’t think straight. I would turn into a stumbling mess and my heart-rate would spike to astronomical heights. We got full marks.

I finally mustered up my courage to ask her out. We had become friends through the assignment and after school I asked her to come over to my house. She agreed and as we walked home, she told me about her family. She told me about her artist mother and her two younger twin brothers who liked causing trouble and her pet cat, Pearl who was blind in her left eye and as black as tar. I laughed at this anomaly. She laughed back, and told me her father gave the cat that name.

Where is he, I asked, not remembering her talk about a father figure. Heaven, she replies as she makes eye contact with me. Her eyes are beautiful. They’re brown and when the afternoon sun hits them, they look golden. I want to reach out and hold her, hug her, comfort her, tell her everything would be okay. I reach for her hand and she clasps mine, interlocking our fingers.

We would repeat this routine every afternoon, for all four years of high school. We would walk to my house, sometimes her house and just talk. We would talk for hours and hours about mindless things. Our favorite movies, why we liked our favorite colors, our family, our fears, our sadness, our shames. I liked her. I didn’t know how she felt about me.

Would she feel the same? No-one seemed interested in me. I was just there, never the first friend, but always the third or fourth option whenever people wanted someone to help them. I couldn’t bear to think that I would confess to her, only for her to turn me down. She wouldn’t reject me harshly, of course. She would do it gently. I had envisioned it all before. A sympathetic smile, then she would tuck her hair behind her ear and would take me to sit next to her and she would tell me she didn’t feel the same. I had all the worst case scenarios unfolded in my head. And I hadn’t even confessed yet.

I am brought back to reality as she gently traces my face with her fingers. Butterflies dance on my skin where her finger lingered and I can’t help but fall in love with her more. The foliage casts beautiful shadows on her skin and the little cracks in the walls of the tree-house permit slivers of sunlight in which patterns her fingertips. She’s now humming a song and gently swaying to the tune. The sun is warm and it kisses our skin. The tree house in my backyard is our sanctuary. Tucked away in the large boughs of our oak tree, one cannot help but feel like faeries, hidden away from humans. Just her and I.

What a wonderful feeling being in love. What a wonderful but dangerous thing. Those who have been in love know how terrifying it is. You surrender yourself to that person and can only hope they surrender to you. Love is a destruction of two persons and the formation of one new person. You fall in love with someone and you keep a little bit of that person with you. You may say you do not care for them anymore after they say they cannot love you, but a part of that person always lives on within you. Maybe it’s the way they talk, the way they smile, what they love—it becomes a part of you.

I look up at her and she looks down at me. A small smile graces her features and I am hit with an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her neck anywhere. I hike myself up on my arms and stare back at her. Our eyes hold, daring me to make the first move. Her lips part and she licks them, her eyes hold a mischievous glint now. I maneuver my body and sit cross-legged in front of her. I close the distance between us, bringing my face closer to hers.

I kiss her cheek first and I pull back waiting for a reaction. Her eyes are closed and she exhales gently. I take her face in my hands and I kiss her eyelids. Warmth radiates off her and I am intoxicated with the smell of honey. She places her hand on mine and removes my hand from her face. My heart drops at this and as I go to move away, she takes my face in her hands and ever so softly kisses me. Her lips are soft and her eyelashes brush my face. Her nose pokes my cheek and she giggles at this. A soft throaty laugh. Her laughter is contagious and I snicker at this. We’re both smiling and I take her hand in mine. I plant a kiss on the outside of her palm.

“I like you” I tell her, looking into her eyes and then adding, “as more than a friend.”

“I’ve liked you since the time we first met. ”

The sunlight and the trees and butterflies hear our confession.