If you look up "charming" in the dictionary, you'll see that it not only has references to strong attraction, but to spells and magic. Then again, what are liars if not great magicians? He had me wrapped around his finger before I even knew it.
I hugged Haven tighter, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. He was objectively handsome, his features sharp and his eyes a warm hazel. But it was his charm that had truly captivated me.
It all started with a lie; a white lie born out of desperation. Trapped in a conversation with a persistent suitor named Jake, I impulsively declared, "I have a boyfriend. He's... out of town." It was a ridiculous excuse, but being the only one in mind then, it served its purpose, momentarily diffusing the situation. You see, I wasn't supposed to be dating as a first-year on campus, a rule imposed by my well-meaning but overprotective parents. I couldn't even claim to have a boyfriend, as my closest companions were two male friends who were always part of our larger group of six girls. So, I just blurted it out.
This one particular day, as the vibrant hues of sunset painted the sky in shades of pink and gold, Jake hurriedly caught up to me, his heart pounding with anticipation. For weeks, he had been confessing his feelings, hoping for a chance to win my heart. But each time he approached me, I seemed to retreat further into my shell, my polite smiles masking a deeper indifference.
"Hey, Emma," Jake said, his voice tinged with nervousness as he fell into step beside me. "I was thinking, maybe we could grab dinner together tonight? There's this place that I've been dying to take you."
My lips curved into a polite smile, but there was a flicker of hesitation in my eyes. Didn’t he know that this only works in the movies? And that if you actually want to ask a girl out you shouldn’t leave chance for a no? "Oh, Jake, that sounds lovely, but I have plans tonight," I replied, my tone apologetic. "Maybe another time?"
Disappointment gnawed at Jake's insides, but he forced a smile, masking his hurt. "Sure, yeah, another time sounds great," he said, his voice tinged with forced cheerfulness.
As we walked in uncomfortable silence, Jake couldn't help but wonder what he was doing wrong. He had showered me with compliments, offered to help me with assignments, and even gone out of my way to surprise me with small gifts. Yet, despite his best efforts, I remained elusive, my heart seemingly out of reach. It’s not that he wasn’t good enough for me but honestly, he was trying too much.
I didn’t know if it were just me who was always turned off by a guy being too available or we as women were just difficult creatures to understand. Jake was cute, but his vibe always gave off. He was overly eager, I get it that I was pretty and intimidating, but that subconsciously lowered his perceived value in my eyes. It was my rooted tendency to desire things that were perceived as scarce or difficult to obtain.
Don’t get me wrong, yes, I loved attention, a guy treating me like his little princess, being protective and caring, being always there for me and at the same time being a bit distance. There were blurry boundaries I wanted to create which I myself couldn’t see leave alone a guy who tried to understand me, but I always gave strangers a chance.
That night, a new number texted me, introducing himself as Haven. We chatted for a few minutes, and that was it, like it always was with every other DM. But then, two weeks later, a bad day at school left me exhausted and frustrated. Like the little girl I was, I found the perfect quote for that and posted it and to my surprise, Haven replied. We talked for hours, and I poured out everything - the school drama, the pressure, the loneliness that sometimes gnawed at me despite the constant company of my friends. He listened patiently, offering gentle advice and witty banter that made me laugh despite myself.
He was a stranger and it was so easy talking to him. Yes, we were still strangers but unlike other guys, he wasn’t readily forthcoming with his feelings or attention, and this created an element of mystery and intrigue. It sparked me with the woman’s curiosity and desire to get to the deeper him.
Something about Haven felt different. He was cool, gentle, and possessed a genuine interest in everything I said. It was like talking to an old friend, a familiar comfort I hadn't known I craved. He made me feel understood, a feeling so rare and precious that I found myself drawn to him in ways I couldn't explain. I waited for him to ask for a picture of me so that I could find a reason to be turned off, but instead he sent his. It was a single picture that I opened with my breath caught in my throat.
The man in the photo stood bathed in golden sunlight, his back to the camera. He was tall, his broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist visible beneath a loosely fitting white linen shirt. His hair, dyed to the color of sun-kissed wheat, was tousled by a gentle breeze, a few short loose thin strands escaping to the side of his ear like he had that part unkempt intentionally. He wore a pair of grey snickers with stripes of green and black.
my eyes flicked upwards, tracing the line of his neck to his jawline. It was strong, defined, with a hint of stubble that only added to his rugged appeal. But it was his face, revealed in profile, that truly stole her breath.
His nose was straight, angled slightly, and framed by cheekbones that held a hint of high color from the sun. The most captivating feature, however, were his eyes. Even at this angle, the crinkling at the corners told her they were smiling, their color impossible to discern. His gaze was fixed on something just beyond the frame, a hint of curiosity and wonder playing on his lips.
I felt a warmth spread through my chest, a strange mix of nervousness and intrigue. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed sarcastically, "is this you?
He wasn't just conventionally handsome, not the kind of beauty that stopped heads in its tracks. But there was a kindness in his eyes, a depth that spoke of wisdom beyond his years.
He wasn't the "perfect guy" stereotype, in fact, there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice every time he texted, a shared understanding of life's imperfections that resonated with me. “Oh, I don't mean you're handsome, not the way people think of handsome. Your face seems kind. But your eyes - they're beautiful. They're wild, crazy, like some animal peering out of a forest on fire,” the reply I wanted to give him but ended up in my journal, describing the way his eyes had held mine during our first video call which apparently happened the same night.
Our conversations, initially text-based, eventually morphed into late-night video calls, where we shared dreams, fears, and everything in between. He was a gentle soul, a true gentleman in the purest sense of the word. A true gentleman is one that apologizes anyways, even though he has not offended a lady intentionally. He was in a class all of his own because he knew the value of a woman's heart, I wrote, comparing him to the countless "pretty handsome jerks" I'd encountered in my life.
One night, out of the blues, he texted the first line of my favorite song. My heart skipped a beat. How in earth had this devil known my favourite song? I knew he was cute, but I didn’t know he was this observant and deductive. It was the opening line of "Sing it With Me" by JP Cooper, a song I adored. I eagerly replied with the next line, and we continued, verse by verse, until we reached the middle stanza which he texted.
"…And wait and hope that,
Maybe you could call me
Call me, won't you?
Tell me that you want me…”
My heart pounded in my chest as I thought what to type. Continue the song’s lyrics, say “…and maybe I could play for you? No, it was a trap and I wouldn’t do that. Instead, I replied with Astrid’s part.
“I never saw it coming,
When you caught me way off guard,
I almost crashed my car,
That melody you wrote,
I'm falling for somebody I don't know…”
A minute stretched into an eternity as I waited for his reply. I couldn’t speculate his next response. Would he go on and tease me with Astrid’s next part or would he go on and say I felt like someone he already knew? However, he continued with the song’s lyrics. Maybe I was thinking too much. Maybe it was all in my head.
“So, tell me, will you call me?
I'll be waiting,
Tell me that you want me,
And I'll be there to play for you,
Play for you tonight.
And baby, you'll be singing with me…”
I read the text like he was really singing to me. "Do you want to know my answer?" I asked him wittingly, and he said yes. Just a simple yes.
A shiver ran down my spine. "Yes," I typed back, the single word holding the weight of all my unspoken feelings. It was an ambiguous answer he did not respond to five minutes later.
I looked directly into the screen, my eyes reflecting the flickering of nervousness as my heart hammered against my ribs, mimicking the frantic rhythm of my thumbs as I typed one more message, "Yes, I want you," which felt like a confession ripping from the deepest chamber of my soul, a sentiment so profound it transcended the confines of a phone screen.
I was in love with him, and I know that love was just a shout into the void, and that oblivion was inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I knew the sun would swallow the only earth we'll ever have, but I was in love with him.
I waited for his reply. Five minutes stretched into ten, then fifteen. With each passing second, an army of doubts began their relentless siege on my fragile certainty. Had he not received my message? Did he think I was joking, a desperate girl latching onto his song lyric like a lifeline? Or worse, had I scared him off with my sudden, unfiltered declaration?
Picking up my phone, I reread my message, each word now appearing grotesquely bold and out of place. Had I been too forward? Too forceful? Perhaps the carefully constructed facade I'd maintained, the witty banter and playful demeanor, had all been stripped away, revealing the vulnerable mess I truly was.
The room seemed to shrink, the air growing thick with the weight of my own insecurities. Every silent space between our previous messages now felt like glaring confirmation of my fear. Was I just a fleeting amusement to him, a momentary distraction in his digital world?
The melody of the song from which he had culled the lyric echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of the reckless plunge I had taken. Each note mocked my naivety, highlighting the vast gulf that separated our worlds. He, a free spirit, capturing the world with his lens, and me, a prisoner behind the bars of my own anxieties.
A tear slipped down my cheek, blurring the image on the screen. Was this the end? Was this where our story, barely born, would be unceremoniously buried beneath the avalanche of my doubts? With a trembling hand, I closed the WhatsApp, the silence now a deafening roar.
However, a tiny flicker of hope remained. Perhaps his lack of response was simply a technical glitch, a cruel twist of fate rather than a rejection. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a chance for a reply, a continuation of the song, a melody weaving the threads of our destinies together.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to accept the uncertainty. In the vast, unpredictable canvas of life, love often thrived in the spaces between the lines, in the unspoken desires and the courage to be vulnerable. And I closed my eyes.
The ugly sound my phone woke me. Disoriented, I surfaced from a sleep devoid of dreams, unsure how many hours the clock had devoured. My hand instinctively reached for the source of the insistent buzzing, intending to silence the alarm clock's shrill summons. But as I squinted at the screen, my heart lurched – it was him video calling. Haven, subtly yet so beautifully written, with an intensity that rivaled the moonlight filtering through the blinds, momentarily banishing the anxieties that had plagued me moments before.
“What time is it?” I mumbled, not knowing that I had already swiped the answer push.
“Quarter past twelve. Sorry I took too long to respond, got held up in an emergency.” He said, without giving me time to complain. I wanted to say it's okay and wish him a goodnight, but he still didn’t give me a chance.
“I know you are really tired so I will let you sleep, and we can catch up in the morning.” He added, his voice full of sarcasm. Hadn’t he seen my message or he just ignored? Once again, this thought started gnawing me. Why would he call, just to add insult to the injury and ruin my already ruined night?
What else? I was so beautiful. Nobody ever got tired of looking at me. Nobody ever had to worry if I were smarter than them: They knew I was. I was funny without ever being mean. Everybody loved me and felt lucky to have me. I wasn’t just pretty. I wasn’t just beautiful. I was as radiant as the sun.
“it's okay…” I replied in a weak voice, pretending to be sleepy but masking all the doubts I had deep down.
“By the way you are beautiful.” He said, catching me off guard. “I enjoy looking at you.”
I'm in love with you," he said quietly.
"Haven," I said.
"I am," he said., and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things.
I knew that we didn’t get to choose if we get hurt in this world...but we did have some say in who hurts us. I wouldn't mind Haven hurting me. It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by him. I liked my choice. It was stupid, but I was a young girl, beguiled, or more accurately, it was a temporary spell cast by the illusion of love, which would eventually be broken by the light of reality.
” Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what’s her name?" I managed to ask.
Haven sighed. "Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember.”
“She has another guy?" I asked.
“I don’t know, but a lot of boys like her," he replied.
“So, here’s what you do. Just confess. She can’t turn you down then, eh?" I said sarcastically.
“I don’t think it’s going to work out," he said.
Why ever not?" I asked, mystified.
He blushed beet red and stammered out. "Because...because...that girl is you.
…….
Hey, may I see you again?" he asked, bringing me back to reality. There was an endearing subtleness in his voice.
I smiled. "Sure."
"Tomorrow?" he asked.
"Patience, grasshopper," I counseled. "You don't want to seem overeager.
"Right, that's why I said tomorrow," he said. "I want to see you again tonight. But I'm willing to wait all night and much of tomorrow." I rolled my eyes. "I'm serious," he said.
“You win, tomorrow it is.”
I could feel him press his forehead into my temple and he asked, 'So now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?' I turned into him. 'Put you somewhere you can't get hurt.”
“Bye for now” he said, slipping off my arms and walking towards the door.
The end.
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