Maisara's pov
I think I'm on the verge of going crazy. And I have no one else to blame for that but me.
It's surprising how my brain is still performing fine over such pressure. After rushing out of the restaurant, I jump into my car and start driving. I have probably broken all the rules known to mankind. Even I'm surprised that I haven't gotten pulled over.
It takes exactly twenty-five minutes to reach the airport. Haphazardly parking the car near the terminal, I jump out of it and rush inside. I feel like I'm about to have a heart attack as I keep running looking for him in the endless lines of people at check-in counters, waiting areas, coffee stands, and everywhere. All the while, I keep frantically calling him. Yes, fortunately, or unfortunately, I still have his number, unblocked and undeleted. But he is not picking up.
It feels like a really cliché scene from books or movies, except that I do not care. I just need to meet him before he is gone forever. Whatever happened between us, if it's right or wrong or what he will think, I do not care about any of these. I just need to see him, hold him, and have a few words with him. If it's too much to ask, I only wanna see him. I will do it from afar. But please, Allah, I need to see him, even if it's for a second, even if it's just a glimpse.
I stop a lady who looks like airport stuff because it feels like she will know. I realize I'm struggling to get the words out when I try to talk to her. Somehow I manage to say, "Flight 653.........Did it leave?"
Luckily, I got a message from Ian earlier when I was in my car about the flight details. I can't decide whether I should thank him for informing me about the whole thing or be angry at him for doing this at the last minute.
The staff doesn't say anything but gestures behind me. And my dumbass brain interprets it as that she has found him and he is behind me. I quickly turn around and find that she is actually pointing to the information desk. Needless to say, my heart drops, and panic increases. Thanking her, I rush to the desk almost slamming myself there in the process, and ask the attendant frantically, "Please...... Please tell me did...... Flight 653... Is it... has it boarded?"
She takes a look at me and immediately gets that something is wrong. Offering me a sympathetic smile which does nothing to me, she nods to her computer. "Let me check that for you, ma'am."
A few torturing seconds which feels like hours later, she finally looks back at me and states, "I'm sorry, ma'am. Yes, the flight just took off. Would you like to book- "
And with that, she and the buzzing world around me get replaced with a static sound. I stumble back not quite processing the fact I have just got. He is gone. I have actually failed to catch him in time.
I was the one who rejected him badly one week ago. I was the one who left him behind and walked away. How the tables have turned. Now I'm here dealing with the grief of losing him for life.
I walk over to the waiting area and sit on a chair to take a break. I didn't feel this way one week ago. I didn't feel like it was going to go this way. Of course, I was certain that I would never see him again. But somehow, in the back of my mind, it wasn't equal to I would lose him forever.
Now, a week later, after realizing what living without him means, I have no idea what I'm actually doing. My life is a mess. I keep trying to move on but I can't. I can't even focus on self-development for which I left him. Seeing him one last time might have fixed it. But that chance is gone too.
Pulling out my phone, I call his number again. It doesn't even ring this time. It goes straight to voice mail. Switching my phone off, I put it into my pocket and put my face in my palms. Then I cry my lungs out.
All the pent-up frustration comes out in tears and screams. I don't try to hold back. More tears and more screams. They are all collected in my palms. I keep crying and screaming and crying and screaming until my throat starts aching, until I don't have any tears left, and until I don't have the energy to go on anymore. Still, the violent ache in my heart doesn't go away, rather it increases.
I don't know how long I have been sitting here moping over my unfortunate fate until I feel a hand over my shoulder. Before I can look up and see who it is, that person pulls me in for a hug. The soft vanilla smell hits my nose. It's familiar. Also, the person is a female. Who is it?
"It looked like you needed someone to hold you."
It is Jenna. She must have followed me here. Nonetheless, I let her hug me. Because she is right. I also feel like I need someone to hold me now. I don't mind if it's her. I think it's better if it's her, someone I barely know and someone who barely knows me.
Both of us remain silent. As time goes on, I start feeling less bad. The pain in my heart is there but it's bearable now. I feel less like a bad person. At one point, I realize that I have calmed down. Slowly, I pull myself away from her and turn my face away so that she doesn't see it. I try to wipe my face as much as I can. I'm looking like shit for sure but it's difficult to tell how bad it is without a mirror.
"Do you want to take the day off?" Jenna asks. Taking the day off? For what reason? All of my reasons have just left me. I don't have to take the day off anymore. In fact, I will be happy if I don't ever get a day off.
Shaking my head in negative, I get up. "Let's go," I utter before starting for the exit myself.
We drive back to the office and I enclose myself into the work so much that I don't even realize when it's time to go home. I would probably have stayed in the office if that was a choice.
Chloe takes me with her and drops me home. Like she has promised, she hasn't bothered me anymore during the day. Our ride is mostly quiet as well. But it's obvious that she has noticed something happened.
I don't disclose either. There is no need. Wishing her a good night, I get out of the car and go inside the building. I have moved into a brand-new apartment two or three days ago. My own apartment.
It takes a few seconds to reach the front door of my apartment. When I'm about to open the door, I realize that it's unlocked. And what's even more surprising is that it's locked from the inside. Before I get to decide what to do, the sound of the door unlocking reaches my ear.
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