Chapter 47: (part 3)

“Don’t be offended, Elise. I just want us to have a good, memorable date while we’re here. And don’t think I’m listening to all the ridiculous stuff on the internet.” he says sincerely.

“It’s just… you’re making me feel stupid by saying that.”

Their concert is in three days. Harry told me he begged the management to make the Philippines the last stop on the tour, so he could have more time with me afterward. I don’t want to believe him but looking into his honest eyes — the ones that don’t know how to lie — I almost do. He blindly grabs my hand and holds it as we stop at a restaurant.

“Don’t move,” Harry whispers, before he runs around and offers his hand to help me out of the car. I’m falling for him more with every moment, though I’m determined not to let him know.

The restaurant is elegant, and I feel like a walking rug among the polished crowd. I follow Harry confidently to the host’s table. As we get closer, the man behind the podium nods and greets Harry, then gestures us to follow him. I trail behind like a lost puppy, and I’m sure Harry notices because he suddenly stops and squeezes my hand.

“We’re on a date. You’re not a diehard fan following me everywhere.” he whispers.

“Oh, yeah? Because I’m definitely not your fan and never will be.” I joke back.

Harry wheezes with laughter, and I try to compose myself. He picks a table by the window — quiet, with only a few other people nearby. He clearly wants privacy. I glance around nervously, expecting judgmental stares, but nobody’s looking at me. The waiter brings menus, leaves us to decide, then returns with water.

As we wait for our food, I scan the room again, still tense, my anxiety barely hidden. Harry shifts beside me, clearly uncomfortable too.

“Is something bothering you?” he asks softly, his hand brushing against mine.

“What do you mean?” I reply.

“You seem worried.”

“I’m sorry. I guess being alone with you makes me anxious. I’m not perfect, but here I am, in a fancy restaurant with you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” he says reassuringly.

When the food arrives, we eat mostly in silence. Harry tries to start conversation, complimenting the dishes and mentioning the concert, but I can only manage one-word answers. After the meal, we leave quickly — probably because of me. Harry opens the door for me, a genuine, gentlemanly gesture I’m beginning to love. But instead of starting the car, he sits behind the wheel and waits.

“What are you doing?” I ask, annoyed.

“I want to know what you’re thinking, Elise. I’m not a mind reader, so just tell me. Do you not want to go out with me?” His voice is pleading. “Just say it.”

“It’s not that… it’s not you,” I say, hoping to ease him. “I just don’t know… I’m not comfortable around you yet.”

“You’re not sure how you feel about me.” he says, almost like he knows me better than I know myself.

I nod, even though it’s a question.

“Listen, Elise,” he starts, “when I told you I love you, I meant it. But that doesn’t mean we have to start a relationship right away. I can wait. If you don’t want to go on a date with me, that’s fine. If I’ve been rushing or making you uncomfortable, I’m sorry. I’ll hush.”

I feel a surge of anger. Why do I feel pressured to understand? To accept?

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, trying to keep calm but failing.

He turns to me, holds my hand firmly, and looks deep into my eyes. I feel his pulse racing beneath my fingertips while my own heart feels slow, like I’m barely breathing.

“I don’t want anything from you except for you to believe me when I say I’m truly in love with you.” he says, never breaking eye contact. “Believe me when I say ‘I love you.’”

I’m so nervous I want to disappear. I don’t know how people learn to fall in love or how they’re sure it’s love at all. I don’t know if I should accept him or push him away. If I reject him, I’m testing my own heart. I know I love him, but I’m not sure if I’m ready. If I accept, I risk being called a user. Love is a risk — everything is. Maybe loving him is the right thing, or maybe it’s the easiest choice. My thoughts are a mess.

“Are you sure you really love me? From the first time we met, you acted like we’d known each other forever. Then you kept bothering and irritating me with your eyes. You even hated me for accepting Mr. Kite’s offer. Then you said I inspired you, and you kissed me. Now you want to date me?” My voice cracks with confusion. “I’m not like the other girls you dated. I’m not easy to get or to throw away. I can smash you and bury you in the ocean, and no one would ever find you.

“I love you too, Harry,” I whisper shakily, tears spilling down my face. The words echo inside the car — my first true admission to him, and maybe to myself. I don’t even know why I’m crying.

Just when I think he’s done, he says, “Don’t be scared to love, Elise. Don’t be scared to accept the love you deserve.”

Love, fear, regrets — they all hold me back. Accepting love brings fear, then regret if it goes wrong. But love is a risk. Everything is.

I look at him and kiss him, tears streaming freely. He kisses me back, taking away my fears, my worries, my doubts. Teaching me not to apologize for happiness.

I didn’t turn on the alarm last night, but I expect it to ring anyway. The sun is already up, and mom is yelling my name. I rush to the bathroom and put on my uniform. For two days now, I have been rushing everything in the morning, and I expect this to become my new normal. Mom has already prepared breakfast I can eat on the way to school—again. I don’t know how long I can keep waking up late for graduation practice.

Again, when I get there, the practice has already started. My adviser glowers at me for being late, and I hear whispers from other students. At lunch, Arya and Zara found me walking down the hallway, looking at my phone. We decide to have lunch on campus, which turns out to be a bad idea. I can hear gossip all around us; people are staring and whispering, and I feel like a worm under a bird’s gaze.

“You know what? You got yourself into big trouble by dating Harry.” Arya says as if greeting me.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Zara looks at me, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “There are rumors about what happened last night.” she whispers.

“I thought you were reading the tweets since you were on your phone.” Arya says.