Witty repartee was our thing. Both of us pulling the most random thoughts out of thin air, seeing who would hesitate first — the most complicated and thrilling game of concentration you’ve ever played.
This time, though… voices were softer. Cadences were gentler. Smiles turned up at the corners. Eyes never wavered. And the distance between us slowly closed.
Inch by inch, we moved in, no longer fighting the gravitational pull that had existed between us for years. Up until that moment I had warned myself not to dissect his words or read too far into his actions. He had made it very clear in July.
But in that moment, I saw something. I felt something. That he wanted to say something but was fighting the urge. It was thick in the air around him — in the way he looked at me, the way he stood too close, the curve of his smile. There was no doubt in my mind anymore.
He wanted me.
Those words he said back in July might’ve been a lie or might’ve been true, but it no longer mattered. Because here — here — on this street corner of a European city, was a boy standing in front of a girl, his eyes answering the question she hadn’t dared to ask… and what’s a girl to do but fall again?
This is an excerpt from Paris of the East: An Interactive Travel Memoir.
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