now-Peter

                                    

                                          
One one thing I had never anticipated, not when I watched her, not when I first wished for her, was that I would lose myself in my feelings for her. I'd always been curious what that would feel like—to want someone so much it made you do things you never thought you would, yet things that felt entirely true to who you are. I'd never fancied myself a Romeo, nor even a Heathcliff, but for her, I am both.
To her, I might just be the intense stranger she went on a single date with who somehow never really left. I expected to enjoy her company, expected to feel a certain bliss. But in all my expectations, I never expected her to be quite like this—the way she laughs, fully and honestly, when I surprise her with something genuinely funny; how she gets lost in the music when she dances; the calm that comes over her when I'm near, as if I quiet her thoughts the way she quiets mine.
It was one selfish thing, one irrevocable decision, to have claimed this place in her life—to be there when she wants me and in her shadows when she doesn't. And as she looked at me this morning, I found myself praying to God that she would never stop wanting me. If there ever was a reason for me to live, it was her.
With her hand half-covering her mouth, an obviouse attempt at shielding me form morning breath. she asked, "Can I wash my hair?" "As if you need my permission for that. Let me do it," I offered.She laughed. "You couldn't. Or, I don't want you to—I have a whole routine." She stood, eyeing me like I was ridiculous for even suggesting it."Teach me the routine," I replied, following her down the hall toward my bathroom. She began rifling through my limited collection of hair products, barely concealing her disapproval."You don't have anything I could use," she muttered, a hint of disappointment in her voice. I'd planned so many things but completely missed the mark with hair products or rather gave up. When i had asked Clarissa to get things for Rhian, she ahd asked bout hair texture and i had no idea what hair was like back then."We could go pick some up," I suggested."No, I'll just wash it at the dorms," she replied. I knew why—after all, she'd likely spent the last of her cash on last night's cheap vodka shots. But I wanted her to stay."Rhian," I ventured, "spend the weekend with me." Her eyebrow arched, the way it did when I made demands rather than asked. and i quicky added please with a smile "Nice save," she said, flashing that genuine smile I loved. "What would we even do all weekend?""Well, you wanted to ask my mom about my formative years, so we can do that. You have your ID with you?""Is your mom going to check my ID?" she laughed, half amused, half curious."No, love," I said, moving closer, filling the small distance between us. As much as I loved watching her, I liked feeling her near me even more, morning breath and all. "She's visiting family in Spain. I thought we could meet her there.""Peter, you're not taking me to Spain," she scoffed."Why not?""For one, I can't afford it, and no, you can't pay for me," she replied firmly."I will, and I can," I said. "You're not working this weekend. And besides, you already said yes last night." i lied ."I'd have to pay you back," she muttered, clearly overwhelmed. "But you can't spring something like this on me. I have to wash my hair!""Then let's wash your hair," I said, already planning the trip in my head. "The flight leaves in four hours. Let's go get the right products."She begged me to let her drive as we were brushing our teeth, with a bit of foam at the corner of her mouth. I liked when she begged. I couldn't help catching her gaze in the mirror, somehow making even the simplest routines feel like something more. "So, tell me about your mom," she said."Well, she's... very nice. And a scientist," I managed, realizing I'd never really had to describe my mother to anyone. She was just Mom to me. "She loves music—the kind without words, like what you played for me the other night. She plays too but not like you do. She used to play me songs to help me fall asleep."Rhian smiled as she made what was probably the worst attempt at parallel parking I'd ever seen. She led me to a small Indian shop, greeting the owner, Priya, like an old friend. I watched as she picked out things I couldn't name and asked Priya about her son, whom, apparently, she babysat occasionally. I paid, grateful for the glimpse into her world."Let's get breakfast," I said, leading her down the street, and she smiled—a real smile. We walked to an old breakfast spot I used to frequent as a teenager. It wasn't fancy, but it had 1-euro sandwiches that tasted like heaven back then. "Oh really," she laughed when I mentioned this. "And what did teenage Peter order?""Always the same—an energy drink and an egg sandwich." We ate mostly in silence, but it felt good, like we'd done this a hundred times."So, Rhian, about this routine of yours," I said, smiling. "Tell me how I can be of service. I'm a quick learner."
Rhian moved through her hair routine like a pro, working section by section, braiding each piece before carefully shampooing. She had so much hair, and every time I thought she was done, she'd move on to the next part. Then she added another in product that in her words needed to stay in for like forever. Meanwhile, she was bossing me around, instructing me on exactly what to pack for her: ten sets of lingerie "just in case," four identical pairs of black jeans, her AC/DC shirt to match the gray one she'd already taken, trainers, and a pair of heels for "formal occasions."
When she finally finished, I couldn't help but stare. This was Rhian at her most herself, completely natural, with her curls free and wild. She wore my old hoodie, the one I only brought out when I was at my worst, along with black leggings that hugged her in all the right ways and a pair of white sneakers. In that moment, seeing her like this, i was sure every man in the universe wanted her . But she was looking at me, as if all that mattered was my reaction.
"Is this okay?" she asked, breaking me from my thoughts.
I grinned, pulling her close. "Yeah, love, it's a three-hour flight. You're perfect."
I leaned down to kiss her, hoping she knew that she was mine, and that I wasn't about to let any imaginary rival come close to her.
She suddenly remembered, "Oh, I'm out of contacts—can we swing by the dorms for my glasses?"
"Of course," I said, guiding us into the town car I'd arranged. I gave the driver instructions to head by Reymonta Street, which was on the way, and pulled her back against my side as we settled in. She gave me a small smile, one that felt secret somehow.
"You know," she said, resting her head on my shoulder, "you're stealing a lot of my firsts, Peter."
I felt a warmth in my chest at her words. "Good," I replied, with a grin that matched the way I felt. "I'd like to steal a few more."
She laughed, cheeks pink, and then leaned into me. I loved the way she looked—fresh-faced, a little flushed, completely herself. "I like your hair like this. It suits you," I told her.
She shrugged, trying to downplay it, but I saw that little blush and couldn't help smiling.
As the car meandered through the saturday afternoon sumeer traffic, we settled into a comfortable silence, feeling closer than ever in the early morning light. It was simple, peaceful, and I wanted to stretch this moment forever.