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11:47
She was supposed to be here seventeen minutes ago. The mug of coffee in your hands has started to cool, and yet there is no sign of Lilliana. She’d asked you out two days ago, to your surprise. You could have sworn that she was straight and that you’d be stuck mooning over an impossible girl for the rest of your college life. However, two weeks after she’d been dumped by her boyfriend, she walked over to your table at the library and asked if you wanted to go get a coffee with her. Not one to waste such a miracle of an opportunity to spend time with the prettiest girl on campus (in your humble opinion), you finally stammered out, “Y-yeah, that… that sounds great!” You two had exchanged numbers and had decided to meet up at Isabella’s, a quaint cat cafe not far from campus, at 11:30 on Saturday. Welp, today is Saturday, and it’s 11:52 now, and she still hasn’t showed. You were starting to worry that she had stood you up, but quickly pushed the thought away into a corner of your mind.
No, she wouldn’t just ditch someone like that… right? Maybe she just got held up in traffic? Wait, no, that’s stupid, the cafe is in walking distance from my school. Uh, maybe one of her friends needed help with something and she’s busy? That would explain why she hasn’t even read the 12 or 20 texts that I’ve been sending her; she hasn’t had a chance to check her phone. Yeah, that’s got to be it. Nothing to worry about, heheh. I’m sure she’ll be here soon, or at least text me back.
12: 11
Uh… It’s been forty-one minutes and she hasn’t even read any of your texts. You’ve been trying not to text her again since she probably wouldn’t like being spammed any more than she has already, but you’re on your third coffee and a knot of anxiety is tangled in your stomach. You decide to send her one more quick text. Just in case.
— — —
12:12
Me- Hey, Lilliana? You there? You were supposed to be here over half an hour ago. Are you alright?
12:16
Lilliana <3- Who’s this?
Me- Uhm… It’s [y/n]. The girl you asked out for coffee at the library on Thursday?
Me- We were supposed to meet up at Isabella’s at 11:30 today.
Me- Where are you?
12:18
Lilliana <3- Oh right. Change of plans
Me- What, why?
Me- Did something come up?
Me- We can always reschedule, I’d be fine with it.
12:24
Lilliana <3- Don’t bother
Lilliana <3- Kennith called me yesterday about how sorry he was and I spent the night with him
Lilliana <3- I only asked you out bc I was bored and needed something to do
Lilliana <3- No hard feelings right?
Lilliana <3- Oh and delete my number. I never even saved your contact bc I forgot to lol
— — —
She… She… What?
Your heart cracks in two. You… you really thought you might have had a chance. You should have known better. You were so wrapped up in how gorgeous she was that you forgot how cruel she could be. Like a faerie murmuring a lullaby to weary travelers in the woods, she ensnared you in the idea of her and brought you under her mercy. Hah, not even that. The fae are merciless. They toy with their victims out of pure sadism. How entertaining it is to crush a puny peasant’s hopes and dreams. How beautiful the broken weeping sounds; a symphony of misery and pain.
You should really stop waxing poetic about her playing you, even if it sounds pretty good despite how numb your mind feels right now.
You push your half-empty coffee mug away from you— you’re too upset to drink any more— and slump onto the table, your face buried in your folded arms. There’s no way your day could get any better than this. Might as well admit that since it can always, always get worse.
— — —
You don’t know how long it’s been since one of the cats climbed onto your shoulder and/or upper back and decided to nap on you, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re starving too, but it wouldn’t be fair to disturb the cat. It’s all you can do to just ignore the hunger. You don’t know if you even have an appetite at this time though; you’re too sad to eat. You’re halfway through quietly humming the Hamilton soundtrack when someone knocks on the table in front of you. You carefully poke your head out of your cocoon of self-pity, already annoyed at whoever dared to disturb you. Your eyes widen as you take them in, and it’s all you can do not to flinch into a ram-rod straight (gay) seated position because then the cat would go flying and the really freaking pretty person in front of you would probably hate you for hurting the cat and decide to ignore you, instead comforting the cat and sending death glares your way, and, Oh, shit, they just said something WHAT THE HECK DID THEY SAY, DAMMIT?
You stare at the person like a deer in headlights until they carefully wave a hand in front of you.
“Helllloooo?” they say in sing-song, and dammit their voice is pretty too. “Person with a cat on their back? Are you okay?”
“I- Me?” you stammer.
The person quirks an eyebrow at you, smiling. “Um, yeah, you. Are you alright? You seem kinda down.”
“Well, the cat decided that I would make a good bed, so I can’t get up,” you quip back. Shoot, was that rude? Will they mistake your sarcasm as rudeness? Dammit, they probably hate you now, you’re so stupid. Stupid stupid stupid —
To your surprise, the pretty person in front of you breaks into giggles. Giggles . You might as well hide in your arms again before they see you turn into a tomato because oh my god, why are they so pretty?!
The person does their best to stifle their laughter so that they can respond. “I mean, that much is obvious, haha.” Their face falls into something more serious and unsure and shit, no, why are they upset now, what did I do?! “But, ah, you do seem kinda… I dunno, sad? So, I was wondering why you were sad in a cat cafe of all of the lovely places on Earth. Heck, you have a cat sleeping on you, and if that can’t cheer you up, then maybe talking about whatever is wrong will help?” They’ve sat down in front of you now, just inviting themself to your table. You have no idea why this person is talking to you, and you don’t really feel like talking to a stranger about your god-awful love life at the moment. It’s too personal to share with someone you don’t know, even if they are super pretty.
After several moments of you just staring at the person, they blush in embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry,” they stammer. “You don’t even know my name, and here I am asking you to share something personal like that.” They quickly stick out their hand to me. “I’m Portia. She/her by the way,” she says, smiling slightly.
Hoping and praying that your hand isn’t cold or sweaty or gross or anything, you carefully shake her hand. “[y/n]. A-also she/her,” you respond, stammering out your name. Portia grins at you.
“[y/n],” she repeats. Is she testing out my name like the people in fanfic do? Holy shit… Shit. Wait, no, that’s ridiculous, she’s probably just making sure that she can pronounce it correctly. Well, I mean, it’s not that hard to pronounce, but… No, I’ve just been reading too much fanfiction. “It’s a very nice name!”
Your pathetic attempt at a conversation sputters out like a cheap candle. She’s looking at you expectantly, one eyebrow quirked. You’re about to say something stupid, like ask her what her favorite color is, when you’re saved by the cat that was sleeping on you. It wakes up, stretching carefully and thoroughly on your back before it hops onto the table and curls up in Portia’s lap. She looks delighted, and the distraction allows you to actually look at her without seeming creepy.
First of all, her hair is gorgeous. It’s a deep ginger color, and most of the thick, wild curls are tucked into a messy bun with some sort of pale pink headband. Her eyes are a vivid sky blue, currently focused on the fluffy feline who is gracing her with its presence. Her skin is fair, and her round face is generously smattered with freckles. The ginger hair and freckles have already made you a goner.
She appears to be short, maybe shorter than you are, but she’s got some gorgeous curves that you weren’t able to fully appreciate earlier because that would have been creepy. She’s dressed in a tight black t-shirt with a large design of three red roses in full bloom with dark green leaves. She’s also wearing ripped pale blue jeans that hug her legs just so, with an impressively clean pair of white Adidas. She also has a baby pink hoodie tied around her waist.
Her ears have two piercings each: a small pale pink flower with tiny pastel green leaves above a small amethyst stud set in silver. An odd combination, but it looks good on her. She seems to be wearing a bracelet on her right wrist, but upon further inspection, you see that it’s actually a tattoo. Green vines wrap around her wrist, with tiny white and pink blooms and round leaves. You look up and notice the dark silhouette of a raven flying just out of reach of a small ginger cat tattoo perched on her left collarbone. You wonder what the raven and cat represent. Are they there just for the aesthetic, or is there some sort of meaning behind them?
Portia looks up from playing with the cat and notices you staring at the tattoo. The corner of her mouth tugs up into a smile, but you notice that her eyes shine bittersweetly. “Do you like it?” she asks, tugging the collar of her shirt down slightly so that you can see it better. You nod, your head tilted curiously. Portia’s eyes don’t quite meet yours, and they often flick back down to the cat that she’s petting. “It, um, it kind of represents me and my brother. It always feels like he’s just out of my reach. I think I know him like the back of my hand, but every now and then I learn something new, or he pushes me away, or he pushes me away because he’s worried I’ll learn about one of his “terrible secrets” or some crap like that.
“He always says that he’s trying to ‘protect’ me, but I can take care of myself! Honestly, he’s always trying to bear everyone else’s burdens while complaining about how heavy the load is. It honestly scares me that something might happen to him just because he refuses to accept help.” She suddenly jerks her head up, a blush spreading across her face. “O-Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you!” she gasps. “It, um, it just kinda spilled out all of a sudden, and it just felt good to get it all out, but I’m so sorry—“
You cut her off by grabbing her hand, even though the action makes you blush violently. “I-It’s fine,” you manage. “If, um, if it helped to just get it out, then… then it’s alright.” You can’t meet her eyes— you would only blush even harder. You decide to just stare at the hand that is still holding Portia’s. Your eyes widen as she adjusts her hand to hold yours properly, barely registering her small murmur of thanks. Her hand is small and calloused, firm and careful and gentle at the same time. You’re quick to pull away before you pass out from gay panic. You mutter a small “It’s fine” once again.
After a moment of consideration, you say, “I got stood up this morning.” It’s only fair to share what happened after she told you about her problems with her brother. Her eyes widen at the confession, and she leans forward in her seat, indicating that she was all ears for what you were about to say. You blush for the umpteenth time and have to glance away. Why is she so freaking CUTE?! “Uhm, the, uh…” Moment of truth… “The, uhm, the prettiest girl at school, the… the impossible girl, she asked me out on Thursday and invited me to have a coffee with her this morning at eleven thirty. She was totally out of my league, and I was so surprised, but I’d been hoping and wishing for so long that I couldn’t help but say yes. Long story short, I drank three coffees and waited for over forty minutes just to find out that her ex-boyfriend had called her yesterday and they were together again. Then I just sat here and that cat decided to sleep on me,” you finished, pointing at the cat.
Portia’s eyes are fixed on the table and she is silent for a few moments. She suddenly scoops the cat out of her lap, stands up, and punches the palm of one hand. “Okay,” she huffs “who do I need to beat?” Your eyes widen in surprise as you scramble to stand up as well.
“N-No! Nonono, it’s fine, really, you don’t have to— uh , you really shouldn’t. Beat her up, that is. Her parents are filthy rich and they could probably sue you or something, and I don’t want you getting in trouble just because she stood me up, it’s totally fine, I’ll get over it eventually.” You cringe internally, and perhaps externally, at the word vomit.
Portia’s eyes are still fiery. “You-You can’t just let her walk all over you though!” she protests. “Girls like that have power over others because people think they have power. She needs to be knocked down a peg! You… you can’t just do that to someone!”
You shrug in defeat. “At the end of the day, they’re still the ‘perfect angels’ who can do no wrong in the eyes of their parents. I doubt she’s even actually bi; she told me that she only asked me out because she was bored and ‘needed something to do.’”
Portia hisses under her breath. “I hate that there are people like this…”
You shrug once again, sitting back down and picking up a tuxedo cat who was nibbling at one of your shoe laces. It purrs and nuzzles your hand, demanding ear scritches. You speak as you pet it. “Nothing we can do about it.” Portia picks up the cat she was holding earlier and sighs as she runs a hand along its back. Your stomach chooses that moment to complain about the lack of food in your system. You hide your face behind your hair and the tuxedo cat in embarrassment.
Portia laughs softly. “Do you want something from the pastry counter?” she asks.
“No thanks,” you respond. “I’m good.”
She rolls her eyes in response, frowning at you. “Your stomach begs to differ,” she says. “Besides, I didn’t come here just to pet the cats. This time.” You huff out a laugh, but it takes a few more minutes before you concede. You try to give her a twenty dollar bill, but she slides it back to you. “My treat,” she grins. “It’s the least I can do for you after the horrible morning you had.” Several more minutes later, she’s marching up to the counter, the twenty bucks tucked away in your wallet once again.
Portia returns with two muffins, two pieces of vanilla and caramel cake, and two large slices of pumpkin bread. She asks you what kind of coffee you want, but you tell her that you’re not really in the mood for more coffee. She brings back two mugs of steaming tea, somehow selecting your favorite kind. The two of you start eating, commenting on how good the pastries are. You both agree that the pumpkin bread at the bakery down the street is superior to the bread here at the cafe, but you believe that lemon poppyseed muffins are better than chocolate chip muffins. Portia disagrees and playfully calls you a heathen, so you steal a spoonful of her cake in retaliation. You start to battle each other, trying to steal each other’s cake while protecting your own. You both devolve into giggles as the battle continues, the slices becoming a mess of squished cake and smeared frosting. You can’t bring yourselves to care though; it’s still delicious and you’re having too much fun.
The battle ends when Portia manages to snatch your plate while you’re distracted by the tuxedo cat, who is trying to demand more petting. At this point, you can’t even tell that there were slices of neatly cut cake on the plates because of the mess. You decide to throw away the cake and get more tea. You chat for a few hours, talking about anything and everything. You learn that Portia owns a greenhouse at home and works closely with her friend, Nadia, an event organizer. There are tons of events that may require flowers, and she’s happy to provide them, as well as help Nadia boss around her assistants. Portia is saving up to open a flower shop so that she can be “official.” She has a cat named Pepi, who she adores, and when she was seven, she tried (and almost didn’t fail) to kick someone in a giant Mickey Mouse suit in the crotch at Disneyland.
You tell her about your unsuccessful attempts to keep carnival goldfish alive for more than three days, your favorite books and movies, and how exhausting college classes are, even without having a subject that you’re majoring in. You find that Portia is a really great listener, and her sense of humor is amazing. Once you got over the initial awkwardness, you never once felt uncomfortable while you were talking with her. It was incredible.
Eventually, you had to part ways. You had an exam at seven and needed to study, and Portia needed to head home and feed Pepi. After a split second debate with yourself, you asked her to exchange numbers with you. She gleefully agreed, and the smile on her face was so genuine that you just knew that she’d be trustworthy. She wouldn’t ignore you like Lilliana. Even if you two were just friends for all of eternity, you could tell that Portia wouldn’t let go of your blossoming friendship that easily. You two exchanged numbers and walked out of Isabelle’s. Standing next to her, you realized that she was, indeed, shorter than you. She admitted that she was 5’1,” but she didn’t complain. She stated that she was a “fun-sized badass ginger chick,” and you agreed between giggles.
“I had fun today,” Portia says as you stop under a street lamp.
“Me, too,” you hum, balancing on one of the cracks in the concrete. You pause and look up at her. “Thanks so much for walking up to me earlier. I… I needed that.”
Portia beams, stepping closer. “Of course!” she chirps. “Anytime you need me, just shoot me a text. If I don’t respond in less than half an hour, I’m either super duper busy helping Nadia with stuff, I’m sleeping, or I’ve been kidnapped by a secret ninja organization bent on the destruction of all felines, and I need you to call the FBI and come and get me.” You burst into laughter as she says this, her face deadly serious before she cracks a smile and starts laughing as well. You didn’t register the exact moment when she leaned in really close to you, but you felt like you were struck by lightning when she pecked you on the cheek. She grinned mischievously as she sauntered off, tossing a wave and a goodbye over her shoulder.
You’ve been stuck under this same street lamp for ten minutes, one hand carefully touching the spot on your cheek where she kissed you, and the other in a fist just above your still-racing heart. You should really get home so you can study, but you’re too shell-shocked to move. The buzzing of your phone snaps you out of your daze. It’s your roommate, Asra, asking you when you’ll be home (so he can complain about one of his bosses being a pompous asshole, like he does almost every night over several mugs of lapsang souchong). You shoot him a text, promising to be there soon, and take off across the street, almost getting hit by an Uber because you forgot to look both ways before you started crossing.
— — —
When you get home, Asra is draped across the squishy blue couch, already on his second mug of tea. You pour yourself some as well and gather a couple of pillows and your laptop and notes for the test you have soon. You get comfortable, setting your stuff on top of the coffee table and sitting on the pillows as you start studying. Asra launched into his rant as soon as you sat down. You’re only half-listening as you try to start studying. Usually, you pay attention whenever he speaks, but you both know that these rant sessions are just vents so that Asra doesn’t lose his mind, so he doesn’t mind if you aren’t paying too much attention.
You quickly lose focus from your task, your mind drifting back to Portia. And the kiss. Mostly the kiss. But sometimes her smile, or her eyes. But yeah, mostly the kiss. You feel a buzz in your pocket. A text? You quickly pull out your phone.
— — —
5:58
Portia >u<- Hey, you’re probably sick of studying, right? Wanna chat until you have to leave for your test?
Me- Whaaaaat??? How did you know?????
Me- But yeah, I’m already bored. What do you want to talk about?
Portia >u<- Well, Pepi somehow got into the catnip.
Portia >u<- I have no idea how.
Portia >u<- It was up on top of the fridge, and now there’s a mess everywhere.
Me- Eesh
Me- Tell me everything.
Portia >u<- Of course! ;3
Portia >u<- Okay, so what happened was…………
— — —
Fin~