Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

64 | Finish Line

SÁBADO
2:40 PM

Dahlia Gray

It doesn't feel real.

Not like it's supposed to.

After sliding in the key and hearing the satisfying click of the lock disengaging, a hesitation to step in fills me. I couldn't believe, even standing a foot away from the entrance of my apartment, with a box I carried up from the U-Haul stationed outside the lobby, that this is mine.

Mine to take care of, mine to come home to, mine.

Sebastian, Presley and Harlow have already seen the apartment. They moved most of the furniture that I bought from my paychecks in, and did most of the heavy lifting. All of the stuff in the U-Haul are just miscellaneous boxes tapped with designated destinations: the kitchen, the living room, and the bedroom.

I could've been there, with them, to help move things in—but I wasn't.

I still felt like it was a dream and I'm going to wake up soon.

"Dahlia," Harlow whispers behind me, catching me in the brief of my thoughts. I turn, seeing my boyfriend, his eyes dancing over my features, reading me, while carrying a larger, much heavier box between his arms. "It's real, y'know? It's real, and it's ours."

Ours.

I extended Harlow the invitation to the apartment, and with joy, he accepted. He still wanted to be home and keep his space with his family, so, after discussing the minor details with Nini and Sebastian, they ushered him to take the opportunity to move in with me, while simultaneously keeping his bed clean for whenever he decides to visit back home. The option gave him the best of both worlds.

But, I'm not quite sure Presley would agree.

I catch the sight of his ocean blues, and I inhale a sharp breath, relieving the bubble filled inside of me. He smiles, noticing the way my shoulders are relaxing under his words. It's a charm, I'll admit.

I turn back around and push open the door, closing my eyes almost instantly. I took wary, small steps inside, hearing his footsteps trialing after me, and stopped—to what I believe to be the center of the apartment.

Peeking through one eye at a time, my vision is greeted with the beams of sunlight that cascade the entire layout, almost as if the heavens were giving us a warm welcoming to our new home. It took a second to adjust and take everything in: the open lounge of the living room with a slidable glass door and small balcony to step out on, the large kitchen island with granite countertop and open floor plan for moving around, the hallways leading into our bedrooms and baths.

I realized then that I did a semi-poor job with picking the furniture, opting with a dark navy blue couch and sofa, and a wooden coffee table that did not match the layout whatsoever—but, at this moment, I really couldn't care. It's a seat that I can use, and it's a table where I could place my things.

Because it's mine.

The reality struck me like a bolt of lightning and everything fell into place. It no longer felt like a distant dream I was carrying, or an empty promise I made to my mother. It's real, in front of me, and I'm standing in the middle of my apartment with the love of my life.

I drop the box in my arms and spin on my heel.

Harlow must've predicted what I was about to do because he quickly set down the box, and before he got the chance to stand up properly—I tackled him into a hug, bouncing off the ball of my feet. My force caused him to take a few steps back, but he carried through, wrapping both his arms around my waist in security.