in a hundred words.

You know how in those cheesy movies and romance novels, they always talk about how being near the person you love makes you weak in the knees? That they basically tremble that you can scarcely keep yourself upright?

I never thought they were true. I always wrote it off as the overactive imagination of some lovestruck writer indulging in a personal fantasy. 

So imagine my disbelief when I found out that the feeling exists. 

Because when I was talking to you that day, and wondering how in the world can your eyes and smile be that stunning, I was also very aware of the fact that my knees were shaking and that I needed to lean on the counter or sit down, or else end up buckling and looking like a fool in front of you. 

I don’t know whether to hate you for proving me wrong or love you for proving them right. 

The feeling is wonderfully strange and hasn’t quite gone away. 

Your smile is the only thing I can really comprehend as you ask me to dance. Your hand is at the small of my back as you lead me to the dance floor, where the lighting is dim and everything twinkles like a dream. 

And then you draw me close; my arms go around your neck and your hands are at my waist and I can just smell the scent of your aftershave that’s distinctly you. 

“Your hands are cold,” you whisper to me, amused.

I laugh softly, nervously. “But don’t you know? They always do that when you’re around.” 

I’m writing this because it’s so damn hard to keep away from you. I’ve tried, believe me, I have. You’ve got me under your spell and there’s nothing I can do about it and I don’t want to ruin what we already have but I’ve realized that someday I’m going to have to let you—let this—go. So I’m leaving you this note, and I’ll be waiting for you at our old spot by the lake tomorrow afternoon just before sunset. If you don’t come, I understand. But if by some chance you do, my heart is completely yours. 

I’ve never really noticed how the rain falls. I’d always thought it fell straight down, much like when you let go of a water balloon from a window.

It’s late at night and quiet and all I hear are raindrops. The car is moving and I see the rain reflected off the headlights and it’s falling diagonally. The wind pushes on the rain. It still falls, but not the way we think it does.

And then I realize that the rain is falling, the car is moving, but I am not. I’m still here.

And finally, finally I understand why. 

I wrote about you again tonight. I wrote about you because the moon was full and it reminded me of the nights we’d go looking for wishes in silent streets. I wrote about you because the shirt you left in my room still smells like you, and if I close my eyes and breathe deeply, it almost feels like you’re here. I wrote about you because we had pancakes for dinner, and I know it’s your favourite. Mostly, I wrote about you because I can’t believe that you’re really gone, and I’d rather write than cry knowing you’d never come back.

“I’ll never forgive you for leaving me,” you say, looking at your shoes. “I’ll never forgive you for taking off without a text, a message, not even an explanation.” You look at me, and I finally see the unshed tears in your eyes. “I needed a friend, I needed you, and you weren’t there. We’ve been best friends for twelve years, and you leaving like that was a slap to my face.”

It was true. I took you for granted. And I’m sorry, more than you could ever know.

“I like your shoes,” I say softly, because this is how we are.

(It doesn’t take a lot to rekindle a sputtering friendship; all you have to do is be honest, the way you were, and try.)

Today, he walked in to the library in time to see her sigh, push her book away and rest her head on the table. She sighed again as Draco’s eyes widened. He never thought he’d see the day Granger willingly pushed a book away.

He stayed rooted on the spot when an unfamiliar feeling crept up on him. Was it compassion? He shook his head.

Making a decision, he strode over to her table and put down his bookbag on the opposite end with a soft thump.

 “Granger,” Draco said, nodding. There was no malice in his voice, no taunts, no sign of an impending insult. 

“You sure about this?” you ask me. We are sitting on the grass, so close that I’m aware of your thigh mere inches away from mine and the smell of your musky cologne. I’m sure that if I turn to look at you, I’d be able to count every freckle on your face.

“Yep,” I reply, my voice firm but inside I am quavering. No, I want to say. I’m not, but it’s for the best.

You are quiet for a moment, then finally sigh. “I’ll still wait for you, you know.”

Maybe then we’ll be right for each other.

The gold necklace she had become accustomed to wearing was resting lightly on her collarbone. Her hair was piled atop her head, held messily in place with a clip. She sat next to me, bundled in a thick blue fleece blanket, eyes closed and head resting on my shoulder, burning up with a fever.

The forgotten movie droned on as she slept quietly for the first time in two days.  I looked at her, long lashes and flushed cheeks and soft lips, and sighed.

“I love you,” I whispered, knowing I wouldn’t dare say it when she was awake. 

We are having dinner, you, me and a couple of our friends. It’s nothing in the least bit romantic and the place is a hole-in-the-wall secret that only students in the area know of.

We’re done eating and the air is filled with mindless chatter when you casually drape an arm around my shoulders. As if we weren’t close enough, you gently nudge me so that I lean on you. I feel my cheeks heating up yet I’ve never felt so safe.

It was all just a vivid dream.

I should have known it was too good to be true.