#CountingDown

Six days until the meeting

It was another typical Monday morning. I woke up at six, did the daily routine and headed for the tube station. The air was as chilly as ever. I couldn’t expect more from one of the coldest days in February. The weather forecast said today’s temperature was 2 degrees Celsius. Personally, I thought it was even lower than that. My cheeks had lost feeling due to the bitter cold.

“Hey!”

“Holyrabies!” My heart skipped a beat as my legs missed a step on the staircase.

God, if you do exist, please STOP people from scaring the crap out of me!

I was ready for the fall as I had shielded my face with my bare hands but a firm grasp had held me back before my body could merge with the floor.

“Hah…” I let out a sigh of relief, about to turn around and show my gratitude to the person who just saved me.

“What’s with you, Watson?”

On second thought, why would I be thankful toward the culprit who happened to be my rescuer at the same time?

“What are you doing here Brad?” I furrowed my eyebrows, giving him a doubtful look as he released my arm from his grasp.

“What? Can’t I come here when I want to?” He retorted.

“You live in west London. And people who live in the west don’t normally go to east London for a walk at 7:45 in the morning,” I said confidently. What are you going to tell me now, Bradley Coleman?

“OK, you know what, fine.” He threw down his arms in defeat, signaling that he would tell me what he was up to.

“Now spit it, co-worker.” I folded my arms looking at him triumphantly.

“I need your advice.” Aw, he was embarrassed. His eyes veered away from mine as his cheeks grew pinker. His actions vividly manifested that the blond was perplexed. I was enjoying seeing him like that.

“On what?” I quirked my lips.

“PerparingtheperfectbirthdaypartyforAngie.” He averted his eyes again, scanning the station. He would probably find some hobos sleeping in the corners.

My lips formed an ‘O’ shape.”” “That’s it? You came all the way here at seven forty-five in the morning just to ask me that?”

“First, it’s really important for me. Got it Watson?” He ran his fingers through his hair, obviously annoyed. “And second, you were freaking avoiding me every single time we met, coincidentally or not. Even at the goddamn Nando’s!”

Oh! Right! I was supposed to avoid him. Even now! The whole blind date thing had taken over too much of my brain power yesterday. How could I forget about that? Oh, well, I remembered now.

“Um, my tube is coming. Gotta go.” I whistled the cartoon sound when a character was about to walk away.

“Oh, no, not this time Watson. You’re coming with me.” He grabbed hold of my backpack, dragging me upstairs.

“What are you doing?” I struggled, tried to get away from Brad. Who the heck did he think he was?

“Offering you a ride to school, of course,” he coolly answered.

“What are you blabbering about? This is kidnapping!” I shrieked. “Let me go or I will scream!” I threatened.

“Feel free to do so Watson,” he challenged, confident that he would win. Ugh, what was I thinking, using such a lame threat? Though I disdained this guy sometimes, I had to admit, he knew what his strengths were and how to use them efficiently. So I just let him drive me to school, praying there wouldn't be any more controversy.

Four days left

I woke up about 30 minutes earlier than usual. Brad had been really getting on my nerves with his ambush at the tube station. Actually, I didn’t mind talking with him. Brad was pretty cool to chat with. He knew a lot of things I didn’t. However, I couldn’t bear any more of his investigation for the party. It was just like those talks between an investigator and a criminal on the Discovery Channel.

Brad: What is her favorite sort of birthday party?

Me: For her birthday, you probably should take her out on a two-people-only date.

Brad: Which restaurant should I choose?

Me: One that looks romantic.

Brad: What? How do you know which one looks romantic?

Me: We have eyes for a reason, Coleman.

Brad: Don’t freaking call me that. OK, what about her-

Me: Why? Isn’t it your surname?

Brad: Seriously, Watson?

Me: What? Focus on the road!

Brad: Wha-? Jesus…

Me: Yes?

Maybe it didn’t like one of those hardcore investigations so much. I couldn’t help being sarcastic around Brad as he once told me he wouldn’t take on girl. Therefore, I could, without any trouble, tease him on and on.

“Good morning, Watson.”

Oh, no. Amelia Watson. Walk quickly and do not look back.

“Wait up!” I could hear his footsteps on the ground behind louder and louder. I remembered clearly having told him exactly every reason for me to stay away from him yesterday. He just did not listen, did he?

“What?” I stamped my feet, turned back furiously.

“Whoa, calm down.” Brad raised his hands up in defense. “I know you told me why you’ve been avoiding me and Angie lately, but why don’t you secretively cooperate with me to plan the best date ever?” He reasoned.

“Huh? Don’t you think that sounds rather contradictory?”

“Listen,” he demanded, giving me a stern look. “If I successfully prove to her that I truly, well, love her -” I snickered at the cheesy line. Brad immediately scowled at me. “Then you will have your best friend back. And I will have my girlfriend back.” He clasped his hands, warming them up. “You’re smart enough to understand what I’ve just said right?”

I sent him a glare which he didn’t seem to be bothered much or less, bickering with myself for a moment. Brad stamped his legs with impatience, sliding his hands in the pockets. Then I turned to him, wishing over and over inside I wouldn't regret my decision.

“OK, you’ve got my full support from now on.”

Three days left

Edward seemed to be rather quiet lately. I had messaged him two days ago and hadn’t received anything back yet. Well, at least I had Brad interrupting my daily morning routine with his lover’s problems so I didn’t exactly feel lonely. Nevertheless, I was sort of missing conversations with Edward, especially after last Sunday’s talk. I didn’t have a clear memory of how it started but we were discussing about music.

“What’s your favorite band then?" he asked. The words were on her lips, about to emit into sound. But Edward suddenly interjected. "Wait! Let me guess! You're a fan of One Direction, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am," I answered proudly. "What about you?"

A chuckle emerged from the speaker. I quirked my eyebrow. What was he laughing about?

"Hmm," he hummed really long as if he was contemplating something important. Finally, he replied, "I like their music."

"Really? I thought you just said you liked slow and emotional music like John Mayer's Free Falling." I responded sharply, having a feeling that Edward was lying. I could hear a small sound of rustling noise on the other side. Though I couldn't see him, in my mind, I could picture him sitting comfortably in his chair, but at the same time, his eyebrows were slightly knitted as he tried to think of the best reply he could give me right now.

"Well." Hearing a husky voice, I shifted my consciousness back to reality. Did he say something?

"Yes, I said 'Well.'"

"Oh God, I just did it again." I buried my face in my palms in embarrassment.

"It's OK. I don't mind." Edward chuckled again. I hate to admit this as it was out of my character but I kinda liked his laugh. I knew it's strange to actually enjoy a person whom I have never met before. My lips just couldn't help smiling whenever I heard his laugh.

"Back to the main point. You were saying?" Sensing the topic's redirection, I immediately steered it back to the gist before Edward could succeed in his plan.

"Well, I think listening to some other types of music wouldn't be so bad, you know," he said. "Some of the One Direction’s songs are very relevant to me."

"Oh." I understood. I liked songs that reminded me of myself, my own stories, memories. I could listen to them over and over again as if it was the first time I had ever heard them. "What's your favorite song then?" I inquired.

"Hmm, I think," he paused again. There must be many songs he was in favor of. "Best Song Ever," Edward clapped his hands, determining his answer. "It's related to me a lot."

"Really? Mine is Story of My Life. It's my kind of music." I shrugged, forgetting he couldn't see me. "The chorus, 'And time is frozen' is very moving." I emphasized the adjective. Niall's voice was so beautiful. Listening to him, I really did feel that time had actually stopped.

"You think so?" he asked excitedly, therefore, surprising me. I was sure he sensed my astonishment as he added the next sentence reluctantly. "I-I mean Harry was pretty fit to sing the chorus. I think."

Harry? Oh...

"Actually, I like the chorus that Niall sings better. Harry is good, too. But Niall's voice is more emotional."

"Oh, OK." His enthusiasm had gone down clearly. The calm and composed Edward was back. "You seem to like him the most, after all."

"Are you implying that my comment was based on emotional attachment?" My blood boiled. I disliked people saying I decided something better than the others because I liked them better. That was never my motto. We had brains for many reasons, right?

"Well, it was obvious -” there was ambivalence in his voice as he continued, “that I didn’t entirely mean it that way.”

“Well, it’s true that I don’t really like Harry. The feeling is neutral. But that has got nothing to do with my decision on who is better,” I asserted.

For reasons I couldn’t understand, the atmosphere was tense after my affirmation. Edward remained silent which made me feel worried, uncertain if I should say something first. I could hear the faint noise of the TV from downstairs, echoing up in my room, mixing with the buzzing from Edward’s side.

“You don’t like Harry?” Edward asked me, breaking the silence.

“I don’t like him, but I don’t hate him either.” I gave him an equivocal answer. It was the truth. Again, we were surrounded by silence.

“That’s very sophisticated,” he remarked wryly.

“Haha, thank you,” I replied nonchalantly, folding my arms across my chest.

“I’m just being honest.” I could imagine him shrugging his shoulders sarcastically, pouting his lips. It was a rare moment when your brain waved its white flag toward your heart, giving in to a hunch that had no basis. I felt that he wouldn’t be just a friend on the Internet, that we were destined to meet face to face.

My face fell into my palms as I groaned in confusion.

Maybe I should stop watching rom-com movies.

One day left

Another busy Friday afternoon. My mind couldn’t think anything through. The tube was filled with people: blue collars, white collars. All I wanted was a seat. It seemed to be a wishful thinking. I glanced blankly outside at the dark, meditating on yesterday’s events. I had asked Celine about the blind date. I had always thought that she had a great boyfriend since people like her were hardly ever alone. However, to my surprise, Celine had gladly agreed to come with me, saying she was still single. I couldn’t believe it, but she had confirmed it twice.

Feeling bored, I scanned the carriage, looking at the tired people. A man was in a suit and had Sony headphones covered his ears, listening to the music as he swung along with the beat. A woman who had adorned herself with various kinds of beads and flamboyant clothes sat cross-legged, reading To Kill a Mocking Bird. I loved that book. I stared at the cover without realizing it, my thoughts drifting away in questions.

What will happen tomorrow? Who is Stephen? What kind of person is he? Will he be a serial killer like I thought? What if he’s Edward? It could happen. Then things will be like in a movie where destiny is real and love is infinite.

“What am I thinking?” I mumbled, giving myself a few mental slaps in the face. My eyes wandered around the not-so-small carriage again. It was still crowded, but better than when I first got on the tube. I wondered if Edward was among this crowd of people. If he was, who would he be? Would he be that young lad sitting near the window, wearing glasses, looking handsomely clever? Or maybe he was that a guy with an emo haircut.

Oh, God, what am I doing?

A few hours before the blind date

The alarm was buzzing crazily, waking me up from my nap. I reached out, fumbling for the source just to turn it off and go back to sleep. However, as soon as the buzzer shut up, the phone began to ring. I dropped my face to the pillow, holding back a groan. I just wanted a good rest before the battle.

“Mia, it’s your friend!” Mom cried. “It’s a boy.” She sounded somewhat excited while my face turned pale. I could easily guess out who was the caller. (And if you happen to have forgotten, my mobile phone was broken.)

. . .

“Hello Brad,” I croaked into the phone.

“Will she come?” He had been torturing me with this question for two days. I was in charge of luring Angie to the grand surprise dinner for two at some rosy and romantic restaurant. Obviously, I had completed my task perfectly. All it took was a moving letter written by Brad, composed by me, left inside her locker.

“Yes, she will.” I yawned, casting a glance at the clock.

Uh oh, I’m going to be so late!

Immediately, I straightened up my position, threw at Brad a quick goodbye and ran off to my room. I had to take shower quickly before the date; my hair was sticking everywhere. What should I wear? I asked myself. Maybe just some casual clothes. There wasn’t enough time for anything too fancy, like a freaking dress.

Forty minutes until the date

Mom’s slim fingers were brushing my untidy hair into place as I was standing outside on the pavement, waiting for Celine to come and pick me up in her newly-repaired car. Mom looked at me, slightly knitting her eyebrows.

“Are you really going to the restaurant wearing hoodie and jeans?”

“I don’t have anything better.” I shrugged my shoulders, standing on tiptoe to search for any signs of Celine.

“What? I just brought you a lovely dress last year,” Mom said in amazement. She folded her arms. “How could you forget?”

“But I don’t like wearing dresses, mum. And Celine is here.” I waved my hand at the car turning into our road. The head lights flickered twice. I could see a figure waving hand at me ambiguously.

The red vehicle stopped in front of our house then there came Celine looking stunning, not to mention unorthodox in a dark scarlet cady dress with long sleeves. Mom was in awe when she saw Celine, then her eyes veered to me disappointingly. I, myself, suddenly felt absolutely embarrassed and inwardly wished I had worn something better than an old hoodie and threadbare jeans.

“Hello, Mrs. Watson.” Celine smiled at my mom, sending the awed look back to her face again. Mom nodded her head. She was so dazzled by Celine that she even forgot to fix the way Celine addressed her - it was actually “Mrs. Magnusson”, “Watson” was her maiden name. After a few second, she turned to me; Mom’s eyes were speaking her inner voice.

‘Look at your friend. Whose date is this again?’

I rolled my eyes. Mom didn’t know she was rubbing salt into my wounded pride.

“Hi there, Celine.” I wiggled my fingers awkwardly at her.

“You haven’t prepared yet?” Her voice was full of shock as she scanned me from head to toes. Her question was like an indirect slap at my face. Her green eyes squinted at me, studying my expression and let out a deep sigh. “You’re going to wear that to the dinner, aren’t you?”

I remained silent, too embarrassed to say anything.

“Oh.my.God,” She put an emphasis on every word then strode toward me. Her hand immediately grasped my wrist tightly, dragged me back in the house. “This is your house, right?” She queried, tilting her head while her thumb was pointing at the door.

“Come in, come in.” Mom, who was left alone a few seconds ago, appeared suddenly behind us, pushing Celine inside.

“Thank you.” Celine added, gesturing at mom then promptly turned to me. “This is your date. You are supposed to be prettier than me,” she whispered breathily. Her fragrance was subtle in the air, attracting anybody who was near her.

“But it’s a blind date at Dans Le Noir,” I reasoned.

“The date is blind, not the guys, Mia.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Where is your room?” As we reached the hall of the second floor, she glanced around. I hesitantly showed her the way. My room was a mess. I had promised myself last week that I’d clean my room today but who would have thought that I would have a date to attend.

Celine tiptoed inside my room as there were already some papers scattered on the floor when we came in. They must have fallen out from the pile I put next to the door.

“I was going to clean it tomorrow.” I bit my lips, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Well, that’s not important right now.” Celine turned to me, looking determined. “Because I am going to make you the most adorable girl in London.”

“Huh? What?”

Did she just say, “most adorable girl in London” referring to me? That was ridiculous, wishful thinking. There was absolutely no way she could change this (mundane looking me) to that (the pretty blonde in the poster on the wall).

~*~*~*~

At the same time, in Dans Le Noir

Two guys were standing in the dim-lit bar of the famous Dans Le Noir. One, who has a light brown hair in a crew cut, was on the phone while the other, whose hair possesses a fairly blond color, was chatting freely with the bartender, trying out random cocktails.

“She will be late?” asked the brunette guy. His voice had a faintly Irish accent. “Yes, so I will go in first and tell the host to pay heeds to the girls.”

“Thank you, Stephen.” The person on the other line said gratefully. The voice was soft and a little high, which was no doubt belonged to a woman.

Stephen turned around swiftly, walking toward the blond who was getting a handle on how things rolled in the restaurant. He seemed to be genuinely eager to try out the Surprise Menu. Seeing his mate, Stephen, was approaching, the other guy raised an eyebrow.

“How’s it going?” he asked. Much like his friend, he also owned an Irish accent but it was much obvious and Stephen.

“They’re going to come later,” Stephen said, shoving the phone into his jeans’ pocket. “We’ll wait for them inside.”

“Oh, OK.” The blond nodded his head to the host. The bald man perceived the glance from the boy, quickly made his way to them.

“How many are in your party, sir?” He asked in such a polite manner that anyone would think he had just stepped out from one of those historical movie. “Two?”

“Four,” Stephen said, holding up four fingers.

“Do you have a reservation?” The host flipped the file he was holding in his arms, preparing to scan for the name.

“Yes,” the blond replied. “It’s Niall Horan.”

Notes

So... one of the boys has made his appearance. The wheel of fortune has started rolling!

Fun Fact: Stephen is a real person, not fictional at all. He is really Niall's best mate in real life.
Question: What is Stephen's surname?

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