Stairway To Heaven

When you tell people you have broken up with your boyfriend or girlfriend, they tend to want to give you advice on how to get over your ex. My best friend Sofia is no exception.
According to herself, she is a break-up professional. She reckons with her long list of boyfriends, ergo exes, she knows a thing or two about getting over the end of the relationship. Under these credentials, she has offered me to help me get over my ex-boyfriend.

Though not really believing that the help she was offering is better than the help that our mutual friend and house mate Hansa, who has never had a boyfriend, could provide, I did end up taking her up on the offer.

That is why we had spent last night in a bar. According to a list that had been published in the Cosmopolitan – Sofia’s Bible – the last step in the 25-step plan to get over your ex is to find a rebound. Someone to shag just for the fun of it, so you’re ready for a new relationship when you fall in love again.

I haven’t shagged anyone last night, but I do have an enormous hangover right now. Which sucks because today I have a lecture I can’t afford to either skip or sleep through.

“You guys look like hell,” Hansa remarks from her perch on the kitchen counter. She’s munching on a croissant as she watches me and Sofia shuffle into the kitchen.

I don’t know about myself – I didn’t have the heart to look at myself in the mirror when I woke up this morning – but Sofia does indeed look the part of a hang-over student. Her red hair is a mess, her skin usually tan is a pasty color and creased and there are bags under her eyes.
We do look shabby, especially next to Hansa, who is gorgeous. She has dark skin and brown silky hair. She is tall and when she moves, she does it with grace. Her teeth are a sparkling white and when she smiles, there are dimples on her cheek.

Right now, there’s a smile on her red lips.

It was pure by coincidence but all three of us are partly Asian. In my case, my mother is Chinese while my father is British. Hansa’s parents are people from Panjabi who have spent their teenage years and adult life in England. Sofia, unlike me and Hansa, does not have any obvious features that tell people of her roots. The only thing that gives away that she is not completely from British descent is her slightly tan skin. If she wanted nothing to do with her Asian roots, Sofia could tell people her father is Spanish or maybe Greek, but she is not ashamed of her father’s roots. She has embraced the other culture that’s also a part of her. There are wayang dolls in her room and she sometimes wears batik scarves.

“It’s the price you have to pay to have fun,” Sofia declares as he shrugs her shoulders. She heads for the refrigerator. I follow her.

My head is pounding and my eyes hurt. It feels like an elephant has sat on my head the whole night. It’s my first hangover and I fucking hate it.

Last night hadn’t been the first time I drank a pint, of course. Hello, I’m British. But usually, I am the one of my group of friends who stays relatively sober. But last night had been different, the aim why I drank had been different. I drank to get over my nerves.

You see, I never hooked up with anyone. The relationship that had come to an end a week ago had been one that I had been in for five years. The guy and I had been together ever since I was 14. He is the only one I have ever had sex with.

Tonight, I hadn’t scored. The boys at the party were either unattractive, drunk or only interested in hearing about the great Zayn Malik – on of the boys actually called him that. So after only two hours I went home, drunk, and crawled into bed.

Sofia most likely did score. She never not ends up fucking a guy either at or after the party. She must have had sex at the party because there is no bare-chested stranger walking in our kitchen this morning.

I don’t mind the many guys Sofia dates and fucks, but Hansa does. She doesn’t say it out loud –Sofia will get mad at her if she does and Hansa likes to be on good terms with her house mates – but I can tell by the disdainful croak of her mouth whenever she has to say hi to another one of Sofia’s conquests that she wants Sofia to stop bringing boys home.

Hansa is one of those girls who believes in the sanctity of a relationship. She is of the opinion that girls should want to have a boyfriend for as long as he wants to have them. That’s why she gave me different advice from Sofia’s when she heard of my break-up.
Instead of telling me that I should try to get over my ex by looking for a rebound, she had advised me to find out why my relationship ended and to do things differently in my next relationship.

I had decided to go with Sofia’s advice, as my headache can attest to.

“So, what did you do while we were having fun?” Sofia asks. She has her head stuck in the refrigerator and is searching for the cheese so puts on her sandwich every morning.

I’m leaning against the counter as I wait for Sofia to be done. My eyes are pressed closed and my fingers are pressed against my temples. I’m rubbing them, hoping it will make my headache go away.

It seems to be working if only a little.

“I watched Sherlock.”

Hansa, an English major is a Sherlock Holmes enthusiast. She’s told me that she has watched all the Sherlock Holmes adoptions there were ever put on the big as well as the small screen. And now she’s working on reading all the non-canon Sherlock Holmes books. Yesterday, she announced she’s halfway to her goal, which is rather impressive as she is following a lot of courses this year.

“How many times have you seen that show?” Sofia asks, her voice colored by disbelief.
“I don’t know. I haven’t counted,” is Hansa’s dry reply. She has one eyebrow raised as she looks at Sofia, who has emerged from the refrigerator with the cheese in her hand and her eyes a little less red. The coolness of the refrigerator must have helped with her hangover.

Sofia clicks with her tongue and raises her own eyebrow. “No need to get fresh with me. I’m only asking because I’m wondering if you ever get tired of watching the same thing over and over?”

“No. I don’t,” Hansa denies. I can read in her eyes what goes unsaid. Hansa would like to shoot back at Sofia with the question if she ever gets tired of her short relationships. Like always, Sofia doesn’t seem to catch what Hansa isn’t saying.

Sofia shrugs her shoulders, turns around and starts preparing her breakfast. While Hansa watches her, I dive into the refrigerator. There is some salami on the top shelves that makes my mouth water. It is, however, not mine. It’s Sofia’s.

“Can I have a slice of salami?” I ask with my head still in the refrigerator. The cool temperature takes away the sharp edges from my headache.

“Sure. If you go to a pub with me tonight.”

I groan. I’m really not feeling like going drinking again tonight. My hangover has just begun and Sofia is already saying she wants me to acquire another one?

“Okay. But I’m not getting drunk this time,” I tell Sofia.

“That’s okay with me,” Sofia tells me.

Salami in hand, I pull my head from the refrigerator. Hansa is watching me as I turn around and start preparing my sandwich. I’m eating pickles with salami today. I just hope I will be able to keep it down. Right now, I’m not only suffering from a headache but from nausea as well.

“Did you find any boy you liked?” Hansa asks, voice curious.

I turn my head. Hansa is smiling at me as she’s eating her cereal. Her feet are tapping against the white doors of the kitchen counter.

Hansa was the one I befriended first. Sofia and I are more alike personality wise but she was going to parties all the time the first year of uni. She wasn’t at the apartment most of the time.
So, I hung out with Hansa. We had bonded over our mutual love for Sherlock – I like the series because my favorite actor Martin Freeman plays Watson. Nowadays, I’m friends with Sofia as well and Sofia is also friends with Hansa, even if they don’t see eye to eye most of the time.

“No. They were either drunk or not attractive,” I tell Hansa. I curl my mouth in disgust. “There was even one boy who almost puked on me and then he tried to kiss me. It was quite repulsive.”

“Ew.” Hansa’s mouth does the same as mine and then she erupts in giggles. My misery is apparently very funny.

“Don’t laugh,” I exclaim.

When she doesn’t stop I send her a glare before turning around and finishing my sandwich.
I can hear the shuffling of feet as Sofia takes her plate and walks out of the kitchen and into the living area. Or at least, that is what I consider the room to be. The dinner table is not really in a different room, we only have to walk past the kitchen counter to get to the table.
When I hear the sound or porcelain hitting wood, indicating that Sofia has sat down at the table, I have finished my sandwich. I turn around and see Hansa lift her legs and swing them over the sink and faucet. When she has turned around completely, she gets up off the counter and sits at the dinner table opposite Sofia.

I watch them for a moment. Sofia is fiddling with her phone, eyes focused on its screen. She doesn’t see that Hansa is looking at her. The other girl is looking at her a look in her eyes that I can’t deceive.

It’s not the first time I caught her staring at Sofia. She has done it multiple times before, when she thinks nobody is watching. I never understand why she does it. Or at least, sometimes I think I know but that could never be the truth.

“What the hell?!”Sofia suddenly exclaims, shaking me from my reverie.

My eyes shoot to Sofia, who is glaring at her phone. “How the hell did he get my phone number?”

“Who? The guy you fucked last night?” I ask. I walk towards the dinner table and sit down next to Sofia.

“Yeah. I didn’t know his name but apparently, he has my phone number.”

Sofia is really angry, which doesn’t surprise me. She is rather attached to her privacy. The guy is really going to regret sending her a text when Sofia finds him.

“So, what’s his name?”I ask while I eat my sandwich. “He told you in the text, right?”

“Yeah, he did. His name is Harry and he wants to hang out again.” Sofia is already typing her answer. Her forehead is creased as she continues to glare at the small screen. “Going to tell him to fuck off.”

“Or you could try to let him down gently,” I propose. I feel a bit sorry for the guy. Sure, he made a mistake by texting Sofia, breaking the number one rule of one-night-stands, but that doesn’t mean he deserves having his head chewed off.

“I didn’t even tell him my name, which he should have taken as a hint that I don’t want anything to do with him. And now he is texting me? He’s lucky I don’t look for him and smack him on the head.”

Sofia has finished the text and hits send. With a self-satisfied smile, she puts her phone down. “So, now there’s no need for subtext. It’s now in black and white.”

“I still think you should’ve let him down gently,” I murmur.

“That’s because you’re a big softy.” Sofia pats me on the back before starting on her breakfast.

“Now, I’m not,” I deny.

I, really am not a softy. Sure, I’m not as harsh as Sofia but I’m more of a badass than Hansa, for example. She would never punch a dude, but I have done so.

The guy was being a pain in the arse, saying he could fuck me better than my now ex. He grabbed me and I repaid him with a punch. As he didn’t want it known that he was punched by a girl, neither the high school I attended at the time nor the press got wind of it.

After we have finished dinner, Hansa and I grab our stuff and head out together. We have the same class while Sofia has a free period.

Some people watch me as I make my way to class and when I enter the lecture hall. Most of them don’t know me personally but know who I am.

My fellow students have been either very supportive or very gleeful about my break up. The first day after it was announced, they came to me either to voice their support or their thoughts on how my ex was better off without me. Having been famous by proxy, I allowed them to approach me. I had hoped if I’d let them, they would lose interest in my personal life. But they still haven’t, even though a week has passed.

When Hansa and I take out seats, the girl sitting in the row in front of ours turns around. I can tell by the nasty look on her face that she has nothing nice to say. Why can’t more people abide by the rule of conversation that Disney has tried to teach all the kids who watch Bambi: Don’t say anything if you don’t have anything nice to say.

“I heard you fucked a bunch of guys at the party last night,” the girl – who I don’t even know the name of – tells me, the distaste clearly audible in her voice. She raises an eyebrow. “So, is it true? Are you really a slut? I bet you cheated on Zayn, didn’t you. That’s why you guys broke up.”

I could ignore her, be the better person. I should feel sorry for her that she feels so insecure that she needs to attack me. But I’m not in a good mood today. I don’t feel like being nice to horrible people.

“You should really mind your own business. I don’t feel like talking to people like you today.” I glare at her, even though it makes my head hurt.

“You think you’re better than us, don’t you. Just because Zayn Malik started dating you because he felt sorry for you,” the girl sneers. “He would never have dated you if he had known me.”

This is what I am to most people: someone associated to Zayn Malik, who is one-half of the famous RnB duo, Zeeing Payne.This girl didn’t insult me by using something that had nothing to do with my last relationship but by involving my ex.

“Believe me, he would never be interested in a girl like you,” I fire back. “Now kindly, fuck off.”
Like I said, I’m not a softy.

The girl narrows her eyes but doesn’t say anything back. Instead, she turns her back to me. She does put her middle finger in the air.

The remainder of the lecture, no one tries to talk to me. People still stare and whisper behind my back, but nobody approaches me. For which I’m very grateful. I’m able to concentrate on my studies because I don’t need to focus on not being heard while I answer someone’s question.

My classes finish at four. As Sofia and I won’t be going to the pub for another three hours, I decide to spend the time I have reading a book in the July sun. The university has a nice lawn the students can sit on during the spring and summer.

I choose a spot under a tree. I tend to burn easily and the sun is quite hot today. Back against the bark, I sit down on the grass, lean my head against the tree and close my eyes for a second.

My headache has decreased to a dull throbbing at the base of my skull.

I listen to the soft summer wind, allowing it to lull me into a comfortable daydream. It’s about James McCavoy, my celebrity crush. I imagine him sitting next to me, enjoying the sun like I do. He would put an arm around me and give me a soft kiss on my cheek.

It’s a nice daydream that I don’t really want to become a reality, unlike most people. I know what it’s like to date a celebrity. I know what it’s like to be constantly judged whether or not you’re good enough for your significant other. To be found wanting by most of their fans. And when you break up, it doesn’t stop. You are still judged because you used to date someone famous. They see you as the ex of, not as your own person.

I open my eyes again. Spots flit across my field of vision. The wind is tugging at my hair, blowing it in my face. I push my black hair back with my fingers but the wind keeps blowing it back. Maybe I should read the book back at home, where there’s no wind.

I get to my feet, sling my backpack over my shoulder and start walking towards the bus stop.
When I arrive at the bus stop, people are staring at me. I don’t know them and they don’t go to the University either. As the bus stop is off campus, non-students get on the bus at this stop as well. These people do know who I am, of course. I have been papped enough times with The Zayn Malik for me to be familiar to these people.

I just smile at them. If I don’t, the tabloids will probably print that Zayn Malik’s ex is stuck up, even when she is no longer dating one-half of the RnB duo Zeeing Payne I have been part of a celebrity’s life long enough to know how they work.

Some of the people who are blatantly staring at me, narrow their eyes at my friendliness, but the rest smile back. I decided to only remember them.

Thankfully, the bus arrives before people have the opportunity to ask me any questions. None of them have sat down next to me when the bus leaves again, for which I’m very thankful for, but at the same time disappointed at as well.

Hansa is already at home when I arrive. She is sitting on the couch in the living room while she reads a magazine. There’s a picture of Liam Payne, the other half of Zeeing Payne on the front page. He doesn’t look too happy.

Being friends with Liam is another thing that I miss from my previous life. He’s such a sweet boy, someone who I would have been friends with even if he hadn’t been Zayn’s friend. The two of them had become friends after they both auditioned for X Factor.

Okay, that’s enough. I had promised myself not to think of Zayn or the relationship we had. Other people already see me as nothing more than his ex, I don’t want to think of myself that way as well.

Which was why I asked my friends not to mention his name for a period of a year starting the moment that we broke up. I hadn’t explained why I asked them to do this because I had doubted they would understand. Being the good friends they were, they hadn’t asked for an explanation, they just agreed not to mention the Z word.

Hansa doesn’t look up from her magazine as I greet her. This isn’t anything new, she tends to get engrossed in her magazines.

I walk on to the kitchen. While blasting PSY through my earbuds, I prepare myself a sandwich. My stomach had called out for food the whole way home.

When my sandwich is finished, I sit down at the dinner table to eat it while I read my book. My iPod is now playing Mink Deville’s Spanish Stroll. I have a wide range of music on my iPod, from Classical Music to Taylor Swift. The only two genres I avoid like the plague is House and Country Music. I don’t really consider Taylor Swift country, not even her earlier work.

Sandwich finished, I stand up to put my plate in the dishwater but I freeze in my steps as I hear Sofia yelling. She is in the corridor that leads to the bedrooms and she’s on her way to the kitchen.

Is she talking to Harry? I really hope not because that would either mean he doesn’t take no for an answer or he is mad at Sofia. Both will lead to unpleasant consequences. Harry may end up either harassing or stalking her.

The door to the kitchen flies open as Sofia storms into the kitchen. She’s talking on the phone and clearly furious.

But she isn’t talking to Harry unless he can speak Dutch. Sofia’s mother is of Dutch and Indonesian descent and has taught her daughter to speak in her native language. Most of the time, Sofia and her mother talk in English, but when they get mad at each other, they tend to resort to speaking in Dutch. Sofia probably does so, so people don’t understand that she’s yelling curses at her mother.

“Dat gaat je godverdomme niks aan. Jij bepaald niet met wie ik wel en niet date, of hoe veel jongens ik date. Mijn cijfers lijden er niet onder, dus je hebt niks te zeuren. Doe dat liever bij Felicia, zij is degene die steeds zulke lage cijfers haalt.”

I have listened to enough of Sofia’s phone calls with her mother – it is hard not to when she’s yelling into the receiver – to know what they are talking about. Once again, Sofia’s mother had decided to nag Sofia about all the guys she dates.

Like Hansa, Sofia’s mother would like to see her in a steady relationship. She is afraid that all that breaking up every two weeks will make it hard for Sofia to concentrate on her studies, even though she only ever gets high marks.

Sofia yells another curse into the receiver and then ends the call. The phone disappears into her jeans’ pocket. She leans back against the kitchen counter and runs a hand through her hair. There are tears in her eyes.

It breaks my heart. I hate seeing my friends hurt, especially by someone they care about.
I put my arms around Sofia and pull her against my scrawny chest. She relaxes against me and buries her face into my shoulder.

“I’m so sorry your mother is so hard on you.”

Sofia shakes her head, her hair tickles my nose with the movement. Her voice is muffled when she says, “Not your fault.”

“I know. But I’m still sorry,” I tell Sofia.”You know what. Let’s go to the pub. You need a beer stat.”

Sofia pulls from my embrace and grins at me. “How is it that you always know what I need?”
“I pay attention. Now, go get ready. We leave in five minutes.”

Sofia is ready within five minutes and fifteen minutes later, we walk into the King’s Tavern. There are pubs closer to our house but this one serves my favorite cider.

Like every good English pub, this one is already crowded at five p.m. There are a bunch of university students crowded around a table in the back, a group of middle-aged guys are sitting at the bar and scattered around the rest of the room are clusters of people of all ages.
Sofia and I walk to a table near to the congregation of university students. One of them has an impressive quiff of blonde hair and is telling a story very loudly. He’s being kind of obnoxious.

“Can’t we sit somewhere else?” I ask. Sofia has already sat down. She looks up at me and pulls her mouth into a pout.

“But I like to sit here.”

I let out a sigh and run my hand through my hair. The blonde boy has stopped talking, probably done with telling his friends his tall tale. “Okay. We can sit here.”

It’s no mystery why Sofia wants to sit at this table. She probably has an eye on one of the students sitting at the one next to ours. He’s probably tan and has dirty blonde/ brown hair. Those types of guys are the ones she goes for. I, myself am more of a skinny, interesting eyes type of girl.

“I’ll get us our drinks,” I tell Sofia. “How many beers do you want?”

“Three, please.” Sofia never drinks just one beer.

The middle-aged men make way for me when I arrive at the bar. They don’t do this because they know me – people of their age usually don’t, but because they are polite. Or at least, that is what I think until one of them asks with a grin on his lips. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing at a bar like this?”

My mother would have liked me to be polite, even in a situation like this. But my mother is not here right now so I can be as impolite as I want. “Certainly not hoping you will hit on me.”
The guy’s face becomes as red as a tomato. “You little…”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence, if I were you,” someone standing behind me suddenly says. He’s talking with an Irish accent.

I turn around to see who has come to my rescue. It is the guy who was telling a story so loudly. He is rather a treat for the eyes. He is skinny, from the waist done. From the waist up, he is broad and his arms are toned. His skin is pale and his hair blonde. He has the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen and his lips are very red and full.

“Or what?” the man asks, eyes narrowed and voice threatening.

“I will kick your butt in front of all of your friends,” the boy warns him.

The man shoots him a glare but doesn’t move to attack him. Instead, he turns around and goes back to drinking his pint.

“Thank you.”

I smile at the boy and he smiles back. I may have been able to handle the guy on my own, it’s still nice when someone comes to your rescue.

“So, how should I call my knight in shining armor?” I ask.

“Niall’s the name,” the blonde boy tells me and he takes a bow. I laugh at the ridiculousness of the gesture.

“My name is Bao.” It seems only fair to tell Niall my name as well. “It’s nice to meet you, Niall.”

“Likewise.” Niall is still smiling at me and it makes butterflies flutter inside my stomach. Who can really blame me, this really fit boy is flirting with me.

Something I need to put a stop to, right now. I can’t give him false hope. I force the smile off of my lips. “Sorry, I need to order. My friend is waiting for me.”

Which is probably a lie. Most likely, she had already started flirting with the boy that had caught her attention.

I turn around and wave my arm, catching the bartender’s attention. He walks towards me and asks, a friendly smile on his face, “What can I get you?”

“Three beers and a cider please,” I order.

“Are those beers for you or your friend?”

Apparently, Niall hasn’t gotten the hint. Which is kind of cute. I know I should nip this in the butt, but I kind of like Niall flirting with me. And I really want to flirt back. I like the attention Niall is giving me.

I could allow him to flirt with me. I don’t have to tell him I’m not ready to date yet. I only have to tell him that when he asks me out. If that’s even what he wants. It’s just as likely that he only wants to bang, which I’m not opposed to.

“It’s for my friend,” I tell Niall as I turn around. The bartender has walked away to prepare the drinks I ordered. I give Niall what I hope is a flirtatious smile. It seems I’m successful because his smile grows.

“So, your friend likes her liquor?” Niall’s white teeth glint in the light of the pub as do his eyes.
“Yes, she does,” I snicker. My voice sounds hoarse.

“Here you are,” the bartender announces behind me.

I turn around again to pay for the drinks. When I’ve taken care of that, I grab two glasses that are filled to the brim with beer.

“Here, let me help you,” Niall proposes. He slides in-between me and the guy who he had saved me from only minutes ago and grabs the cider and the third beer glass. The guy glares at him, but Niall doesn’t pay him any attention.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” Niall grins and it makes my heart flutter.

I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. Niall is a stranger, just a fit guy I’m just now getting to know and I’m already acting like I have a crush on him. Which is nuts.

A guy has joined Sofia on the bench when Niall and I arrive back at the table. They are not yet making out but if their closeness is anything to go by, this will soon change.

“Here is your beer,” I announce as I put the beer glass on the table. Niall puts the one he was carrying next to them.

Sofia tears her eyes away from the boy toy of the day. A grin appears on her face when she sees I have come back with a guy in tow.

“And who is this fit guy?”

“He’s my friend, Niall,” the boy sitting next to her tells her before Niall has the opportunity to introduce himself. His speech is already slurred. He turns to me. “And I am Louis. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I mutter. I turn to Niall. “Do you want to join us?”

I don’t want to be the third wheel to Sofia and Louis’s make out party and it isn’t as if Sofia would mind if Niall is going to sit at our table.

“Sure.” Niall looks actually excited to sit with me.

I sit down on the chair opposite the bench Louis and Sofia are sitting on and Niall sits down on the chair next to mine.

“Hey, Taylor. Can you pass me my beer,” Niall suddenly yells, startling me. He turns towards the table next to ours and gestures to a tall guy with dark skin – not the type that people from African descent have but the kind that people with a certain Indian heritage have.

Taylor does as he’s told. He grabs the beer and holds it in front of me. Niall leans towards me and grabs his drink.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, mate.”

Niall takes a sip from his beer before turning to me. “So, tell me something about you.”
“Well, I’m the youngest child. I have an older brother. I have two best friends. One you’ve already met. The other one is our roommate. My major is Area Studies and I’m planning on following a minor on International Management. What about you.”

“I have an older brother too. My major is History, which my parents think is a big mistake. I have a whole bunch of friends but the ones I’m closest to are Louis – the one currently making out with your friend and Julian, who is sitting over there.” Niall points at a guy with ginger hair who is drinking a cider while he listens to a story a friend is telling. “I decided to study in England because I wanted to attend the same university as the girl I liked.”

My heart plummets and I can feel my smile falter. Could it be that I misinterpreted Niall’s actions? Is all the flirting just inside my head? I have been in a relationship for so long, maybe I forgot how the differentiate between flirting and just being friendly.

“We broke up a year ago,” Niall tells me. I can see by the glint in his eyes that he had seen my embarrassment. I can feel my face heat up even more. “So I’m single. As single as a Pringle.”

I can’t help but snicker at the ridiculous saying. It doesn’t make any sense. Niall chuckles as well. He takes a sip from his beer, which is almost gone, before asking me. “I heard you are recently single yourself.”

“Yes, I am.” The cider turns sour in my mouth. Of course, Niall knows all about my break up. He would have had lived under a rock not to know.

“You were together for a long time, right?”

I let out a sigh and push my cider away, my eyes following its movement. My lower lip throbs as I bite it. There’s a look of concern on Niall’s face when I look up. “The break was inevitable. We already knew the end had come long before we officially broke up. We just grew apart. That’s all I’m willing to say about it.”

“Alright. I won’t ask any further,” Niall promises.

“Thank you.”

Niall keeps his word. He doesn’t ask me anything about the relationship I had been in up until a week ago. He talks, instead, about the stunts he and his brother used to pull and describes the village he grew up in. It’s a small village called Mullingar and there are times when he misses it terribly.

I tell him about the eccentricities of my weird aunt, about the cat I used to have who used to bring the strangest things home and about why I want to work for the United Nations when I graduate university. I want to help countries with conflict resolution.

Around nine, the group of friends that Niall came with stand up to leave. Niall’s eyes flit in their direction and a crooked smile appears on his lips. “I’m afraid I have to go.”

Niall turns to me. He holds up his hand. “Come on, give me your phone. I’ll put in my number.”

I take my phone from the pocket of my jeans and hand it over to Niall. His fingers send sparks of electricity up my arm when they touch my trembling hand. I can feel the calluses etched into his skin.

Niall puts his number in my phone and then hands it over to me. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” My voice is hoarse, making blood rush to my cheeks.

“Send me a text, yeah, so I have your number as well.”

“I will,” I promise Niall.

He gives me one last grin before standing up. His friends are impatiently waiting for him by the door. “Come on Niall. We want to go. Hurry up, will you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Niall hurries to where they are standing. One of his friends – if I remember it correctly, his name’s Julian - throws an arm around his neck and whispers something into his ear.

Together, they exit the pub, through the same door that Sofia and Louis had left only an hour ago.

Now I’m all alone. Maybe it’s time for me to go home as well. I just hope Louis and Sofia have decided to go to where ever he lives. I don’t feel liking falling asleep to sex noises tonight.

Notes