There's a slight frown on my face as I peer into my empty coffee mug. I let out a sigh, feeling all the energy drain from my body. An old battery in a telly remote you keep forgetting to replace.

I gaze at my reflection in the window, eyes tired. Dark bags and being stretched too thin. My fingers run through my curls. I've been so on edge and that's so...unlike me. This final draft just means so much to me. All the pressure that has been building up inside me is ready to explode. Fizz. When you drop mentos in a bottle of soda and it bubbles up and bubbles and bubbles until pop! All the tension, the duress, that feeling of being trapped vanishes and the cap is flying off and there's sticky carbonated beverage spraying everywhere.

I've reached those moments that come right before the blast. The building anticipation, the unease and waiting to break free. I just need the green light. That one decisive phone call. The okay from the publisher.

A life defining moment. "We're a go. It's being sent to the publisher."

You are going to be an author. Some of the stress falls away from me, a slight weight is lifted from my shoulders and now I see a reflection of my smile. A small smile sprawled across my face but it's encouraging.

Actually, it's everything.

My dial tone. Ring ring. I tap my ring clad fingers on the table, growing slightly agitated. This would be so liberating. It would be a new step, a mighty accomplishment. Turning a new leaf in my life.

Writing a new chapter (not that it's hard for me to write those haha).

"Please answer," I mutter to myself, eyes focused on the drizzle of rain as it falls outside. There are patterned umbrellas scattered, a bustle on the street. People hailing cabs and splashes of water against the curbs. No one plays in puddles on the sidewalk. It's a hurry up and wait mentality, raindrops slicked beneath expensive dress shoes. I hope they aren't genuine leather, what a good way to ruin your shoes. It's a bit dizzying. Everyone rushing to cubicles and corporate offices and whatever appointments. No one ever thinks to slow down. To stop and dance in the rain-

[flash]

"Raindrops remind me that the clouds can feel."

"Harry," he mumbles. "I think I may love you."

"Hello?"

"Hey, did I get you at a bad time? I suck at these time zones...still."

"You're five hours behind me," he chuckles, sounding slightly exhausted.

"I'm sorry," I swallow thickly, voice whispered. "It's late there, isn't it? I always do this. I'm sorry."

"You might have mentioned that," I swear I can feel him smile through the line. "You know, the whole being sorry part."

"I'm s-."

"Don't you dare say it Harry."

Our laughter is in unison. There's heat in my cheeks and I can't wipe the smile off my face. I press the back of my hand to my skin, feeling giddy. When did I start feeling this way again?

It's been two years. I shake the cobwebs from my brain, try to fathom the reality of that. I left him standing there in the airport and didn't look back. It didn't sink in how he couldn't hate me for it but it just struck me recently that he let go because he had to. Because he loved me with his entire being and here I am, smiling like a fool because I finally understand.

I'm reciprocating those feelings again and falling ten times harder. There's wind beneath my wings this time and I'm not afraid. I know I'll land on my feet. Or maybe it will be more awkward and clumsy than that, but either way he'd catch me because we always promised that for each other. Bend sometimes but never break.

You protect my heart and I protect yours. Poet's honor. Okay...so I just made that last bit up but-

"Harry," his laughter pulls me out of my own thoughts. "You're spacing again but it's normal. I get it."

"You always understand," I fight back warm tears. "How are things going?"

My heart clenches up and a bitter taste fills my mouth. Like stones sinking to the bottom of my stomach. I hate this question. Sometimes I evade the topic. Other times I face it head-on and pretend to be strong.

"In general or?"

Awkward laughter. You could cut the tension with a knife. I let the silence fill all the space around me and take a deep breath, clutching my hand to my chest. Today I am not strong. A single tear falls down my cheek.

But I ask anyway. "You and Mason."

I don't know if he'll swim around the subject or be honest with me. He's such a genuine person, he usually tells the truth because he knows it hurts me but it hurts less than pretending that they didn't rekindle whatever they had before there was me. The student that he couldn't push out of his thoughts.

"Oh...that." His voice falls flat. "I was going to tell you."

There's a shift in the tone of the conversation, you can feel the nervousness. The trepidation, just skimming above the water but feeling as though you could sink at any moment. You aren't really floating. There is no comfort. It's just sheer survival. Stay afloat, stay afloat-

"We broke things off."

"Oh," I reply dumbly. "Recently?"

"Whole truth or half truth Harry?"

Blinking back more tears. Have I asked this before? My memory always fails me. I'm trying to retain so many things and it's still so hard. Apparently I lost a chunk of memory...well, they're flooding back to me every time the tip of my pen touches paper, every time there's an ache in my fingers and a clack on the keyboard. It's just that sometimes I forget again and have to re-teach. It's constantly learning the details over again and repeating words and questions and feeling so stupid for it.

"You already told me?"

"Yes..." Unfamiliar hesitation. A calculated breath. It just hangs there. "Well no. Not exactly. It was a few months ago. We've split a few times but this time it's for real."

"Are you sure? How do you know?"

"I just know Harry," there's a snap in his voice and my hand trembles, phone shaking slightly. "M'sorry," his voice softens, as if he can sense my feeling. We're always so good at reading each other's thoughts.

"Did he hurt you again," my voice is hushed. Frayed feathers and floaty clouds.

"More or less but please don't worry about it. I realized something or maybe I just confirmed something that I already knew and finally crawled out of the tunnel of denial."

"I see," I reply, not fully understanding. I turn his sentences over in my head. "But you're okay right?"

"Yes," a real laugh. "I'm gonna be just fine."

"No more denying your heart Zayn?"

There's a break. A break in his breath and my heart skips a beat. I feel my own breath falter. A slight hitch that must not go unnoticed on his end because he's scrambling for the right words but can't seem to roll them off his tongue.

"It's okay," I rebound quickly, voice way too fast. "You don't have to answer that."

"I will soon enough."

"What do you mean by that," I question gently.

"Nothing," he mumbles. "Forget I said anything."

"My brain was going to do that anyway," I try out a joke. "Memory loss or something like that."

"God Harry," he chokes on his words. "I still love you okay?"

Radio silence. Earth to Harry! Say something. Isn't this what you've wanted to hear? Don't those words sound like sweet music to your ears? My heart is throbbing. It takes all I have not to slump in my chair and pass the fuck out.

[flash]

"This is what happens when we hush the sky. It doesn't want to hold its tongue, it wants to speak."

My fondness of rain grows stronger with each droplet that falls from his mouth.

"Kiss me," I mumble.

So he does, making it rain inside my mouth.

More tears. Flowing freely this time.

"I didn't know when it was the right time to say something but you had to know...I couldn't pretend forever. Pretend that I was okay or that I ever fell out of love with you. But I knew this isn't what you wanted, was it? I just ruined everything. You wanted a clean start and I'm confusing your feelings and-"

"No," I blurt out, fist colliding with the table. My empty mug rattles and people shoot me glares or surprised glances. I'm startled by my own outburst, by the strength it took to speak up. "No," quieter this time. "I'm just now starting to understand and make sense of all this, of us. Writing has been so therapeutic but more than that...I'm remembering just how much you meant to me. I'm falling in love over again just like you said we would. I should have never pushed you away for so long."

"How long have you felt this way? All the phone calls forced to just remain friends? All the late night talks where I barely had the strength to fight my true feelings? It was making me crazy."

"I'm sorry. I know that must have really hurt you and...I feel so terrible. I've been so terrible to you."

"Don't say that. I happily played along. I just didn't know how much it would pain me. It was fine at first but then I got my hopes up that we were bonding again and getting closer."

"You didn't want to push me." The taste of salty tears inside my mouth. "Two years. You felt this way for two years and didn't say anything. Dammit Zayn," my voice drops lower, more guttural. So raw and sincere, you can hear the hurt dripping from each syllable. "I'm so dumb."

"You're not. I can promise that you aren't."

"Then why don't I feel happy," I ask, breath stolen away by pained hiccups and shortness of air.

"Maybe I'm still too far away for this too sink in but don't feel guilty. Please," he urges. "If this is what you needed, it's what you needed. Time to hear yourself think, a clearer headspace. You had your writing and retracing steps. Memories. You had to gain those back to feel something towards me, right?"

"I guess so," I scratch my chin, deep in thought. "This might be the last draft. If they like the manuscript, they'll phone the publisher."

"You might have your name printed on a bestseller."

"Very funny, but you don't know that."

"I know you Harry. I know you're writing and you're extraordinary. You're really fucking good, okay? You are talented beyond belief so don't sell yourself short. The Great Gatsby was once called unimportant, nuanced...cynical by critics. Did you know that? Nearly every classic was ripped to shreds. Scathing reviews and flat out disdain. They still stand the test of time. There is merit in your words and what's within your heart and as long as that passion comes across on each page, there's no way it won't be a hit."

"As if I needed any reminder of just how amazing you are. How could I not?"

"I'm not following."

"How could I not be in love with you?"