❝That's the worst thing about love. It makes everything harder than it has to be.❞
Valentina Morgan moved to London expecting many things, but reconnecting with her former best friend had not been one of them. Said former best friend, Vikram Barn, w...
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It had been eight days since his birthday, and therefore a week since Val had fled their flat in tears. Harry hadn't seen or heard from her since, and her absence made him realise just how thoroughly she had cemented herself in his life, how much they texted and called and hung out. He itched to break the radio silence, but every time he opened their messages and hovered his fingers over the keyboard, he couldn't bring himself to hit 'send.' A part of him recognised that it was not his place to initiate, given how they had left things off. It had to be her that made the first move.
So when her name popped up at the top of his screen, he didn't hesitate. After her sudden exit, her cardigan had been the first thing he'd noticed when he went into his room. He had carefully hung it up in his closet, hoping that he would be able to see her soon to return it. Now, finally, was his chance.
But as he stood across from her, feet stuck to the ground and arms frozen to his sides, he could not find the right words. All that left his mouth was, "Hi."
For some reason, she relaxed at that, a small smile settling onto her face as she hugged his folded-up hoodie closer to her chest. "Hi," she replied, face partially hidden behind a long curtain of dark brown hair. "Um, how have you been?"
"Good," he replied, clearing his throat. He clutched her cardigan in his hands, fingers pressing into the black wool. "What - what about you?"
"Good," she echoed. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Maybe she couldn't find the right words either.
His favourite thing about Val had always been that he could stand the silence when he was with her. Despite his natural awkwardness, the silences themselves had never been awkward or uncomfortable.
This one, however, was. He hated it. He wanted their old dynamic back.
But that was a selfish thought. If he wanted to be her friend, he needed to be able to face every part of her, even the ones he might want to close his eyes to.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Her brown eyes widened, lips tilting downwards. "What?"
"Last week," he elaborated, scratching his chest and fiddling with the football pendant of his chain. In the past seven days, he had never once forgotten to put it on. "Y'know, when I...when you...my point is, I shouldn't have pushed you. It wasn't a big deal. You can do whatever you want. I just got worked up over nothing, and I'm sorry." He tried his best not to look away from her face, even though the prolonged eye contact stressed him out.
He had been thinking about her all week, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong, not understanding how things had changed so quickly. They had been having fun; he still remembered spitting out a mouthful of bubbles as her giggling laughter followed her out of the kitchen, feeling even the slightest bit of annoyance towards her vanish as soon as he walked out and bore witness to her wide, sunshine smile. He just didn't get what the problem was with him driving her.
