limerance.

Well, friendos I had one and a half hour to kill and #evilmovement

I need to stop watching crime dramas. HELP

────────────────────────

“Limerance: an involuntary state of mind caused by a romantic attraction to another person combined with an overwhelming, obsessive need to have one’s feelings reciprocated.”

— section 3

────────────────────────

I see her everywhere.

      I met her a week after her birthday last year, but she had encroached my subconscious long before that. I couldn't shake her off my mind even if I tried.

     Last week while taking the subway, I saw a girl rush past me. She was obviously in a hurry to be somewhere. Considering she didn't even care that a 5$ bill slipped past her pocket and fell on the ground. What really caught my attention though, was the way her hair was tied in a high pony tail. Swaying briskly with each confident step that she took.

Hair the same color as Sadia's.

     Sadia came to my life a little after I had turned thirteen. The first time I saw her, heard of her, I wanted to do nothing but continue doing whatever the hell I was doing at the back of a crowded classroom. With a stale air smelling of wood and parchment, unmopped floor and abysmally loud 13 year olds.

      She walked up right in front of my small desk and asked for a spare pen. Not bothering to even say please. I doubt she even knew my name, though we've been in the same school since 3rd grade. Little did I know that her borrowing a pen would lead to years worth of friendship, and eventually a tumultuous one sided infatuation with her.

     It was her eyes. Those forest green orbs of life and light that did me in. I obsessed over them. Painted them, drew them, even captured them on my phone in all their glorious moods. Excited and nervous, downcast in a sad expression, when they carried guilt, or when momentary mischief flashed in them. Or anytime when the sun light hit them, my personal favourite, they looked like molten green lava, often tantalizing when her sweet smile reached them.  

     Sadia fucking Conrad, daughter of a very powerful man. Bane of my existence. Liveliest, most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. A green eyed goddess who always had her silky smooth, chocolate brown hair wound up high. An unremorseful, entitled brat who'd rather stomp on your heart after spitting on it.

     Sadia lived only a few blocks away from me. We sometimes jogged in the same park but I could never talk to her there. Or ask her out. Her vicious cult of friends never allowed me anywhere near her, even while in school. She was always surrounded at lunch, during morning assembly and when walking back home after the school ended. It annoyed the hell out of me how all the girls protected her. As though she was Virgin Mary and all the boys at school were spawns of the devil.

     Yet when she got kidnapped, no one had been able to tell where was she last seen. Except for me. I knew Sadia like the back of my hand. If there was one place she'd sell her soul to live at for the rest of her life, it was the Book Shack. A local book store cum library, which pandered to all sorts of book lovers. Goddesses like her and weirdos like me. We all had a sense of belongingness at the Shack.

     Sadia had a huge love for books, I told the cops. And a book she's been waiting for has just graced the bookshelves of the Shack. And that's where they found her stuff, a tote bag filled with books, a diary, a lip gloss and an empty water bottle. The cops thanked me for that little tid-bid and told me to be careful.

     One thing that no one knew about her, she didn't only read stories. She also fabricated them, wrote them on her fancy iPad with the most elaborate twists. Her remarkable grasp at diction and ability to make the readers, a.k.a Me, feel deeply about her characters was one of her superior strengths. The only thing lacking in her stories was emotional depth.

     Sadia almost always wrote sad stories and gave her female characters the most tragic backstories one could come up with. And when they broke up with their significant others, they had next to no empathy or remorse in their breakup scenes. They broke hearts with so much ease it was unbelievable. But also very like her own self. Sadia never showed any bitterness or sadness over her breakups. Her reason, she's never had her heart broken but was always the one breaking off other's.

      “Better them than me.” She once said, when we were talking about her latest ex, who pleaded, begged for her to reconsider.

     It made me insanely jealous, at least they get to request a second chance. To be with her, to touch her, to kiss her. I wasn't even given a first. And I had harboured such deep feelings for her, for such a long time. But Sadia didn't see me like that. I cared for her anyway. Still do.

      Making people care for her is one of Sadia's unique abilities. Whether you knew her well or not, she had a way of switching on the protective side of people. You start to like her, adore her even without spending much time with her. That was a privilege only a few would attain. And I was one of them.

      Not only did I have access to her, I also had access to her literature. After a year and a half of borrowing the pen incident, Sadia gave in to my attempts at being her friend. And eventually, I became her best friend, her confidante. A reliable source of love and iration who'd do anything for her. She confided in me about her plans of publishing. That as soon as high school was over, she was going to start looking into publishing houses more seriously. Try to get her precious first full length novel, ‘Limerance’ published under her pen name, Sadie West.

      I asked her why'd she opt for a pen name when she already had the most beautiful name. She smiled kindly, then briefly explained her desire to keep her professional and personal lives separate. And if by some misfortune, Limerance ended up drowning in a sea of better books, it would be Sadie's loss ultimately, not Sadia's. And she could try again, and again without giving up. I was so fascinated with the way she rationalised everything. That's one thing I learned from her. How to rationalize, conceptualize and compartmentalize— Sadia taught me a great deal about Psychology when it wasn't even a subject we took.

      Once when we were eating microwave brownie at her home, watching an episode of Game of Thrones, which she was an absolute trash for, she told me she was never going to find that deep emotional love she craves. Not at least in this lifetime. Which was why she wrote of her ideal partner as the male lead in her book.

      Everything she desired for in a man, she poured into Aizel Delvey. The lost, byronic hero of her story who would be everything none of her exes were. Consistent, honorable men with integrity and loving devotion.

      The way she spoke about Aizel, a fictional character, so lovingly as though he was more alive than me. Me, William Kent Waverly, 5'9" male with a pulsing vein, sitting right across from her in flesh, less than two feet apart. I got so mad at her for describing in explicit detail how she'd thank Aizel, for bringing her favourite Mars bar and sticky cinnamon buns during her monthly cycle. I don't hitting her, but a few seconds later there was an angry red handprint on her soft cheek, with three prominent fingers.

      Sadia looked so shocked, as though unable to process what just happened. One moment she was in her fantasy la la land and in the other, she was slapped into reality, literally.

        “Out. Right now. Get out!” She yelled at me. Her honeyed voice, sounding a little choked and raspy, because of yelling too loud. She spoke over my rushed apologies, declaring that our friendship was over. I felt sucker-punched in the moment but I knew that no amount of apology would work on this scorned goddess. Sorry would not be enough. I'll have to go all out.

      Days and weeks went by, Sadia didn't invite me into her home. Nor did she pick any of my one thousand calls. No texts, no emails. I was devastated. Two months went by, and each ing day without Sadia felt like a year. A cruel punishment for a small, silly mistake that didn't even mean anything. I loved her, didn't she know by then?

     I had given her all the hints a guy could possibly drop. Got her favourite snacks for her whenever I had the money. Listened to all her bad poetry, read all her emotionless stories, made a list of her favourite books and tried to buy two or three as birthday presents. I even learned how to bake chocolate truffle cake and brownie for her. What more could I do?

      When senior prom was around the corner, I got her favourite local community author to write a note for her.

“Dear Sadia,

I am so thankful to readers like you who share my ion for books. Your friend tells me you want to be a writer yourself, which in my forty five years of experience, is one of the most rewarding careers. I can't wait to read one of your books. Good luck for the future, you're doing great.

PS: Give another chance to Will. He feels terribly about what happened and is extremely sorry! And he promises to never repeat what he did.

PPS: Friends like Will are hard to come by, Sadia. If you got one, you're lucky!

Best Wishes.

Your favourite author,

Whitney Palmer xoxo”

     It took her four more days to reach out to me, and when she did, I was elated beyond measure. I could've climbed the Everest in that second or walked through fire for her. She only ever needed to ask. Even a full moon paled in comparison to her ethereal beauty. And I planned on confessing my undying love the coming Saturday.

      Prom season was on, and stupid Promposals were popping up in full throes. In corridors, at field grounds, in classrooms, even lockers were not exempted from this contagious rose-colored love bug. Every where you saw, schoolers were rushing to partner up. With their fake puppy love and fleeting affection. None of them had my conviction, none of them came even remotely close to my love.

      Sadia was proposed to seven times, by four different guys. Every time I worked up the nerve to ask her out, a different Chad would find an excuse to be in her vicinity. Where was that horde of shewolves around her? It was the first time I actually needed them, and as usual they were a disappointment!

      Later during recess, only a handful of people remained in the school cafeteria. Prom was in two days, it was now or never. I pulled out the scrap book I made for her from my bag and called out her name. My voice a little wobbly, damnit!

        “Sadia, I want to show you something! Thank you for giving me another chance, this is for you.”

      She smiled gently, a sense of curiosity took a hold of her sharp features. As she turned pages after pages, her expression went from curious to happy to surprised to shocked. All within a span of a short minute, it gave me a whiplash but I managed to get it out.

        “This... to show you how much I care, how much I love you, Sadia.” I couldn't meet her eyes, so I peered at her through my lashes.

      Sadia was completely taken aback. Her face contorting in anger. Without anticipating, her hand rose up and she slapped me hard across the face. “How dare you!” She visibly refrained from yelling.

      A few more people started to gather around. This was proving to be an extremely humiliating lunch period. I couldn't understand what got her so riled up. They were just pictures. Pictures of me and her, mostly hers when she wasn't paying attention.

      All candid shots of her, in various expressions— her throwing her head back while laughing, her when she was deep in thought, her crying over a sad movie, her tugging her night robe open when she was about take a bath, her soaked in bath bubbles, her dancing to the tunes of Rihanna's S&M while wearing only a thin, flimsy shirt.

       “Do not ever come near me, you creep! Or I'll tell my dad.” Sadia began, her voice shaking and rising in pitch with each word. “You know what he could do, right? Next time you take pictures of me without my consent, you'll be spending your college years in a prison cell. Stay away from me William, I mean it!” With that she filed out. But first, she tore up some Polaroids from the book I made so dotingly for her. And then threw what was left of it at my feet.

      This was worse than the slap she had just delivered in the middle of the cafeteria. Everyone looking at me like I was some kind of a criminal, some scum they found disgusting.

        “You need help man.” Some asshole I didn't care about muttered. And Sadia, whom I did care about was going to prom with someone who wasn't me.

      Red flashed in my vision. I was so angry I could taste it. I still wanted Sadia but the asshole was right, I needed help. And I was going to get it. From none other than her own fictional object of affection, Aizel Delvey.

      Becoming Aizel wasn't as hard mentally as it was physically. It took me nine months to build up the body, the extensive exercise and diet I went through just about took everything from me. But I didn't give up.

      Nine months, and she didn't reach out one single time. It hurt me how easily she cut me out of her life as though I was never a part of it. Six years down the drain with no compromise or compensation for my loyalty and devotion. Well, if she couldn't judge me fairly, I was going to fight for it! Like Aizel would.

      Nine months, it felt ironic. The exact space of time it takes a mother to grow a child in her womb, and akin to that, I felt reborn. Not as the pushover Will Waverly but as Aizel Heyward Delvey, the dream guy of my green eyed Goddess who was simultaneously Cruella.

      I saw her everywhere.

     In buses, in trains, in bookworms who had their brown hair tied up in a pony tail, girls who were mean to their lovers. Wild, high spirited, unremorseful girls who'd rather break hearts than be heartbroken.

   And today, she'll finally see me.