Chase Me

18

Today marked the day of my return to California. I had anticipated feeling joyful about it, but deep down, a sense of sadness enveloped me. There was a conflicting tug in my heart, urging me to stay and work things out with Zane. "Think with your head and not your heart, you foolish girl!" my inner voice shouted. I took a deep breath, quietly whispering to myself, "Think with my head and not my heart."

One part of me longed to stay, while another part insisted on letting things be as they were. After all, it was Zane who had shattered our friendship by choosing a mean-spirited girl over me. I couldn't fathom why I still held onto that anger. It had been years, and I had convinced myself multiple times that I had moved on. But now, upon reflection, I realized I wasn't over him; I was over the situation.

Even if I desired our friendship to mend, I doubted it would be a wise choice in the long run. Sooner or later, he would realize my feelings had evolved beyond friendship. He would see that I no longer saw him as just a friend. And the thought that terrified me the most was not knowing how he would react. I wasn't even sure if he felt the same way about me. He had always been kind and treated me like the princess I believed I was, but wasn't that how all guy best friends behaved?

As I neared the end of packing, a knock echoed on my door. I let out a deep sigh, lacking the energy to engage with anyone. "Come in," I uttered, presuming it would be my mom with breakfast. To my surprise, it was Zane.

"Hey," he said softly. His voice carried a sense of calmness and tranquility that could soothe my soul. Memories flooded back to when we were young, and he would burst into my room in the early morning, armed with pancakes. Well, to be precise, it was our maid who made the pancakes. We would then sit together in bed, munching on pancakes while watching Wizards of Waverly Place. Zane didn't particularly enjoy the show; he preferred High School Musical. Every Sunday morning, it was our ritual. He would wake me up with pancakes and accompany me in watching a movie until my mom eventually pulled us out of the room. That had been our routine, until that fateful night. Zane stepped into my room, holding a brown paper bag in his hand. "I brought you breakfast because I know how much you despise airport food."

Dressed in denim jeans and a white button-up shirt, Zane exuded an undeniable handsomeness. But when he wore a button-up shirt, he transformed into a Greek god. His muscles and abs were sculpted to perfection, even though they were concealed beneath the fabric. It was impossible not to be mesmerized by his allure.

I stood there, starstruck. I couldn't believe he remembered. It was true—I hate airport food due to past experiences of food poisoning. A small smile crept onto my face. It was the little gestures that melted my heart.

"Thank you," I expressed my gratitude as I accepted the brown paper bag from him. "What's inside?"

"It's butter chicken and garlic naan," he replied with a hint of pride, "made by yours truly."

My eyes widened in surprise. "Are you serious? You cooked this yourself?"

He nodded. "Yes, and it's my first attempt, so I hope it's not too disappointing."

I chuckled. "I bet it'll be just as good as your lasagna. Mom wasn't exaggerating when she praised its taste. You truly have a magic touch."

"Haha," he laughed, "it was just a simple recipe I found online, with my own little twist."

"That lasagna was the best I've ever tasted," I remarked, recalling the delicious flavors. Then, I remembered our interrupted conversation from the previous night. "You were about to tell me something last night, before my dad barged in."

Zane's laughter ceased, and his expression turned serious. It was evident that whatever he was keeping hidden weighed heavily on him. "You can tell me," I reassured him firmly.

He took a deep breath. "It's nothing important, and it's probably better if you don't know. It could complicate things."

My curiosity surged, and my heart raced like Usain Bolt. What did he mean by "it could ruin a lot of things"? Was he still involved with Savannah? Did they have a secret child together? Was he secretly married? Could that be the reason he never reached out to me?

"What do you mean it could ruin a lot of things?" I inquired, my voice brimming with curiosity. "Do you think I'm not strong enough to handle the truth?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant," he hastily clarified. "I'm afraid it could jeopardize us. I mean, I don't know what we are, but I do know that I don't want to lose you... as a friend."

Of course, as a friend.

"Hiding things from me is one way to ruin what we have," I asserted. "So, you better speak up now." Zane took a seat on the edge of my bed, his sigh echoing with heaviness. "Let's take it one step at a time. Let's repair our friendship, and then we can address the other matters."

"Other matters like the secrets you're keeping from me?" I asked, my annoyance evident. "I don't think that approach will work. What's a friendship if we're hiding things from each other?"

"There are significant individuals involved—people who hold great importance in your life," Zane explained. "I don't want you to dislike them, hate them, or cut them off. I want you to understand their motives, even though it may seem absurd that they're still pursuing it. I can comprehend their reasons, but I no longer take orders from them," he said, his gaze fixed on his toes as he spoke to me. "But first, I need to mend what I broke so that we can progress and address the issues caused by others."

"You're speaking in riddles," I commented, but then decided to go along with his approach. "Fine, let's fix our friendship. But once we're back on solid ground, you owe me the truth, Shaw."

"You've got a deal, Vasilios," Zane replied, flashing a smile that sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"So, are we good?" he inquired.

I smiled in return. "We're good."

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