It will get better later, they say.

You will forget him, they say.

But which time? When is that ‘later’? And when will I forget him?

 

She sat near the window, was drinking her so-called-strawberry-latte-with-less-coffee.

A book is accompanying her, left unread.

She sighed. This mood brought her back to the memories, arbitrarily.

So-called-prince, she thought, my so-called-prince.

She put her earphones on and A Little Braver by New Empire was playing.

She sighed once again, biting her lips, holding the tears.

“He has gone,” She said to herself. “No more him. No more tears for him. No more me thinking of him.”

Talking about him.

He was her favorite before strawberry-latte-with-less-coffee, and before the Eleanor & Park novel, and before ballad musics. Even before her favorite teddy bear she has carried since she was 4.

If she reads a book about love, he is always the one that comes to her mind. His face. Like Will Traynor in Me Before You, Levi in Fangirl, and Park in Eleanor & Park.

“Seriously, no.” She claimed. “No, no, no. Not him. Not now. No.”

It was not him who left her. It was all about time. The time forced them to be apart. They are no longer compatible for each other. Especially him. He was acting like everything is okay when he is clearly sick of her. And she hated that even more.

She hated rain. But he loved rain. And then she ended liking it too.

She hated coffee. But he loved it. Little by little she learned to like it too.

She loved books. And he was disgusted by the thought of reading crumpled papers with alphabet on them, but he always liked accompanying her to the library.

And now,

She loves him a little, and he probably hates her. Is there any chance for him to learn how to love her again? Little by little? Like how she did? Like how she ended liking coffee for him?

 
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It was when the rain falls. They were talking in the bakery near his school.

“I hate when it is raining,” She exclaimed.

He sipped his coffee. Americano. “Why?”

“Because it is cold? And I don’t know- it is a bit loud and uncomfortable, you know. Like, you cannot go anywhere when it is raining. It is hard.”

He chuckled. “I think rain is good. It forces us to stay home, to stay somewhere, and it forces us to rest, it feels good to sleep when it is raining, right? And like now, I am thankful to rain.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Why?”

“Because of rain, you cannot go home. You are forced to stay here with me. I am very very very thankful.” He smiled.

And that day. She wasn’t very sure. She fell in love with him again, and with the rain too.

 

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A drop of water fell one by one. It was raining. She sipped her strawberry latte.

She opened her notebook, and she wrote.

A beautiful part of me.