11. Home

He had lived with this feeling for about seven years, and yet, he didn't know how to explain it.

It was as if Professor Dumbledore had suddenly taken out his Deluminator and sucked out all the light from his life, leaving him blind. It was as if someone had just slammed a pair of dark sunglasses on his face and left the world in a darker haze. Whatever the reason, the minute his best friend had told him she was moving halfway across the country, was the moment he started stumbling around like a blind man.

There was a time when Isaac Fisher thought he was on top of the world - college scholarships and high praise for his soccer game grades that could get him into any college. But he never thought that he'd lose his fighting spirit when his best friend moved away. 

Twenty-two year old Isaac bit back a bittersweet smile. He never knew he could be so weak. His eyes traveled to a framed picture on his bedside table; him, dressed in his old soccer uniform, teasingly using his smaller friend's head as an arm rest. Harper Lawley made a face at the camera, crossing her arms as she tried to push him away. 

Harper was President of the Drama club back then, but always made time for him. Every match, every tournament, she had a perfect attendance; a better record than his own parents. She was the most energetic person in their school, the happiest girl around, always dressed in bright colors - which is why he could always pick her out in a crowd. 

When she moved away, the result of an ugly divorce between her parents, he knew the true meaning of 'empty'. He never knew that he had depended on her presence so much, never knew how much he needed her until she was gone. The crowd was always too dull for him, just missing one voice, but it mattered to him. Everything seemed so wrong.

His parents talked to him, his teammates and coach gave him a verbal beating, and his own principal wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help. His game sunk, he dove into his studies, and eventually stopped playing. He knew Harper would be disappointed in him, but he didn't care.

Emails, chats and letters, texts and phone calls, were never enough. And after a couple of years, it stopped. 

Maybe their friendship wasn't strong enough to bridge the gap between two states. Maybe she had realized the same thing he did. Maybe the two of them were too cowardly to admit what they knew they had been feeling for a long time. 

'Maybe' was Isaac's least favorite word. 

Two knocks on his apartment door brought him out of his reverie. He sighed, and got up, dragging his footsteps. "What is it?" 

"Isaac?" 

He knew that voice. He knew that voice. 

Isaac yanked the door open, heart racing. And there, standing in front of him with a scared look on her face, was a beautiful young woman with unruly brown hair, wearing a sunny yellow dress. 

"Harper," he choked out, wondering if this was just a dream.

"I... I'm home," she said softly, biting her lip. 

He stumbled forward and wrapped her in an embrace, feeling complete for the first time in a long time. "Yeah. Yeah, you are." 

(*)

I'm baaaaack! God, I missed writing these. Expect more coming up. xoxo

10. The More You Hate

When Vanessa Dawson heard her youngest son slam the door and throw his bag on the floor before stomping into the TV room, she knew he was having a bad day.

"Time to get the Oreos out..." she said to herself, smiling.

Vanessa always had a soft spot for her youngest, who was still a third grader. She loved all three of her children (the eldest were twin girls, Audrey and Stacey, and were already in eighth grade), but Ryan Dawson, who had inherited her red hair, was her heart.

She slowly approached him, carrying a plate full of Double Stuffed Oreos, and a tall glass of milk. One of the old Spiderman films was on HBO, and he was watching it, uninterested. "Hey, Ry," Vanessa said softly, sitting next to him. "Got you some Oreos."

"Thanks, Mom," Ryan replied, looking at her slowly, a hand darting out to take an Oreo.

"Is this the first one, with Goblin?"

"Nah, Doc Ock," Ryan said, continuing to stare at the screen. "I'm glad it's this one; the third one sucked."

"Tell me about it," Vanessa replied, making Ryan laugh.

Ryan loved his mom. She was cool, not like other moms. She actually knew the names of the Avengers and all the superheroes, and didn't get Hawkeye and Captain America mixed up. She also knew all of their alter egos. Sometimes, he secretly thought that she was better at being a guy than his own dad, who didn't even like watching superhero movies. So, that was why he decided to tell her what was on his mind.

"There's this girl at school who won't leave me alone," he said sullenly, making Vanessa smile.

"What's her name?"

"Ugh. Mom. It's not like that," he said, looking at her and frowning. "She always, always, always teases me. She thinks she's so much better than me. She only raises her hand to answer if I'm raising my hand, and she always raises it first. And she kicks my chair and teases me about my glasses and-"

"Bully problems, Ry?" Alex Dawson, Vanessa's husband, came charging in the room, loosening his tie. He bent down to kiss Vanessa and Ryan on the forehead. "Give me his name, so-"

Vanessa shot her eyes at her husband. "She's a girl, Alex. Honestly." Ryan laughed.

"Then... uh... pull her pigtails or something. Nessie, do we have any steak?" Alex walked towards the kitchen. The twins paraded through the door, just arriving from school.

"Dad, no one wears pigtails anymore," Stacey and Audrey chorused, rolling their eyes. "Even the third graders. Right, Ry?"

"Uh, yeah," Ryan said, back to being quiet again. Vanessa sighed, and waited for the girls to go upstairs to talk or do homework, and for Alex to start cooking. When the living room was finally quiet, Vanessa turned back to Ryan.

"Does she make you mad, Ry?" Vanessa asked.

Ryan took another Oreo, and shook his head. "She's annoying, but she doesn't make me mad," he said thoughtfully. "She's like a -" he turned his head to the side, watching his mom, who had a smile on her face. He blushed. "Mom..."

"What?" she said, reaching a hand over to ruffle his head. "It's perfectly normal to have an enemy at your age."

"Really?"

She nodded. "There was this guy back when I was in second grade. He would tug my pigtails, duct tape things to my desk like gum and rocks and things... He even cut off a whole two inches off of my hair one time, and that was the last straw."

Ryan was fascinated. He had never heard this story before. "Then what happened?"

"Well, our moms got so fed up with us that they made us become friends." She smiled, reminiscing.

"And did you become friends?" Ryan asked doubtfully.

"We became best friends," Vanessa said, laughing at her son's incredulous face. "Now am I going to have to call this young lady's mother, or are you going to take it like a man?"

He paused, and shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I'm just going to have to see what she does tomorrow," he said, resigned. But she saw something in his eyes; his attitude towards the girl had changed. Success! she thought to herself, smiling. Now that the plate of Oreos was almost gone, she knew her job was done.

"I'm going to make some dinner, Ry. Those Oreos better not have spoiled your appetite." She told him, before getting up.

"No, mom," he said obediently, and she nodded. Before she exited the room, he called her attention. "Mom?"

"Mm?"

"Her name's Amy Robinson, by the way. Awful Amy."

She laughed, and shook her head at his nickname for her. Vanessa entered the kitchen, where her husband was already preparing the steak. "Girl problems?" he asked her, as she watched him sprinkle the meat with salt and pepper.

"Yup," she said, tying back her hair in a long ponytail. "He calls her Awful Amy," she said, standing next to him and winking.

"Awful Amy? Now I know he takes after you," he said, nudging her playfully with his shoulder.

"Of course he does, Awful Alex," she said, stepping up on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek.

Yay for more notes!

Hiii~! Okay, so here are some updates on my work.

1. It seems you guys are liking this, and at least viewing this. Thanks for all of that! Every time the numbers go up, I feel a bit more happy.

2. I have started to add lyric picture things to my stories. Like, whatever song I was listening to/was inspired by, will have their lyrics (or like a line or two) posted at the bottom. But I'm starting slowly, so yeah, don't expect them right away.

3. I am starting to love different pairings. These particular pairs (so far!) are of course, Gian and Olivia Elle, the rock star and the civilian; Levi Sawyer and Quinn Amity, the Gus and Hazel Grace of Daily Lovebugs; and just recently, Wesley and Andromeda, the poet and the introvert (although you haven't seen much of his 'poetry' yet). I will mark their little stories with 'A GO story', 'SQ' or 'WA'.

4. Upcoming stories: A request for Glory, a band story, and of course, a first kiss. Because I haven't written about anyone kissing anyone yet. Huh. I want it to be SPECIAL.

That's it for now! Thanks so much for following this blog. You guys are AWESOME. Because everything is awesome~!

9. Enigma

Tall, thin, wavy black hair and bright blue eyes. Black eyeliner, thick eyeglasses, and usually dark-colored clothes. She was quiet and didn't speak often, but there was no doubt she was brilliant and street smart. The only thing that didn't define her as the stereotypical introverted girl was the fact that she wasn't bullied. At all. She wasn't exactly a goth girl, she was just... well... shy. People respected her, and she had her own brand of coolness; her photographs. She could capture moments that were perfect. And people loved her pictures, but for some reason, there wasn't really one person who would become her friend.

That was the enigma that was Andromeda Vance.

The enigma was currently leaning against her locker, adjusting her eyeglasses before leaving for her next class. She was wearing a big black sweater over ratty jeans and a white tank. Her tattered Converse high tops were black and had stars doodled over the white spot on her toes. "Anj!"

She turned around and saw a... well there was no other way to describe the 'perky' cheerleader with long red hair and freckles over her nose. A common misconception was that all head cheerleaders were mean blondes with egos bigger than their hair. Not this one. "Daisy."

Daisy Carmichael grinned and reached out to grasp both of Andromeda's hands. "Anj, you have to be the photographer for the yearbook candid shots. Please."

Andromeda, fondly called 'Anj' or 'Andr' ('dr' sounded like 'j' for her classmates, but she honestly didn't mind. In her opinion, it was a really sweet nickname, although she had no problems with being called 'Andromeda'.), was the candid shot photographer last year. She loved what she did; more than that, she did an extremely good job because of her stealth. Being quiet meant she could take pictures of people without them knowing it.

People already subconsciously checked if their hair or makeup looked good whenever Andromeda passed by, even if she wasn't carrying around her trusty camera. She nodded shyly, and looked at Daisy with a small smile, even though Daisy was easily shorter than her. "Okay."

Daisy squealed. "Thank you! I'll be sure to tell the yearbook team. You rock, Anj!" she smiled, and leaned in for a hug, which Andromeda awkwardly accepted.

"Thanks," she said in a soft whisper, while Daisy walked - or flounced, away.

(*)

"Who's that?"

The new kid, Wesley Adams, nudged his new friend, Jackson Staunton, and nodded in the direction of the tall girl, and the slightly shorter, obviously preppy, redhead. Jackson turned away from ogling a girl with a tight shirt, and looked in the direction Wesley was pointing. "Oh, uhm, that's Daisy Carmichael. Wanna tap that? She's taken. You know. By like, four other guys."

Wesley was taken aback. She didn't seem like the type, so he told him. Jackson laughed, and Wesley was confused. "What's so funny?"

"I thought you were talking about Daisy. Nah, I see you mean Anj."

"Anj..." he said slowly, noting that there was a lot of unspoken words behind it. Anj... what was it short for? Angelina? Angelica? What was she like? Was she a studious student, or a druggie, or-

"Anj is... huh. Quiet."

"Quiet? In what way?" Wesley's attention went back to the duo, who were now in excited conversation; at least, Daisy was. She was practically jumping up and down with excitement, while 'Anj' looked like she had no idea what to do. He smiled to himself.

"She's a... what do they call those kinds of people that are like really shy and quiet-"

"An introvert?"

"Yeah!" Jackson clapped his hands and nodded excitedly. "Introvert. She's an introvert. But she takes really good pictures. I mean, really good pictures. She's really nice when you talk to her, but she's kinda... eh," he seemed embarrassed. "Kinda invisible."

"I see..." Wesley murmured, narrowing his dark blue eyes and running a hand through his dark hair. "Wait, what's 'Anj' short for?"

"Andromeda Vance," Jackson said immediately. Wesley gave him a quick grin, and Jackson flushed. "Everyone knows her name."

Wesley looked at Andromeda, and nearly chuckled when he saw her being embraced by the obviously enthusiastic Daisy Carmichael. He smiled to himself. "She sounds like an... Enigma."

(*)

Andromeda hugged her books to her chest as she watched Daisy flounce away, and was suddenly aware of the feeling that someone was watching her. She shuddered; she hated that feeling. Although, she couldn't help but look to the side, and was startled to see a tall, (way taller than her, which made her estimate his height at 6'2), good looking guy, staring right back at her. His hair was on the borderline of being too long, but it worked on him. She blushed, and realized that she had been ogling him. Abruptly turning away, she promised herself not to look back at this... Enigma.

Okay, maybe one more time.

She looked behind her, and caught him staring at her - again. She blushed, and turned away determinedly; but not before she saw him wink at her.

8. Guessing Game (An SQ Story)

"I think that it's just really unfair that you can tease me with MY middle name, and I can't tease you with yours."

"Well, better get used to that, because I love watching you pout. Ow!"

Quinn Amity Gregory scowled at Sawyer Neeman, her hand still bunched in a fist. Sawyer clutched at his shoulder, wincing. "That, I will not love. You pack a punch."

"And I thought you knew I box during my spare time," she said smugly, and opened her Anglo-Saxon literature book again. "Come on, study time is study time."

The two were now in their second semester at college - garnering high grades in their subjects. Sawyer was trying to make his extremely real feelings known to the subdued, studious Quinn, but she wouldn't give. Not externally, any way. Flipping the pages of her book absently, she mused about their lives. It wasn't that Quinn didn't like him - hell, she wasn't an idiot. She knew that Sawyer was practically a real life Augustus Waters. It was just that she needed a bit more proof than his amazingly wonderful attitude, and amazing good looks and laugh and smile and why on earth did she just not want to let him into her life? She groaned inwardly.

Sawyer had a small smile on his face as he watched her study. God, she's beautiful, he thought to himself. He found her just so goddamned interesting that he had invested about 5 months into getting to know her. The fact that she wouldn't give him a chance just made her even more interesting. Quinn was the first girl he was genuinely interested in, and even if she wouldn't believe him, he had to prove her wrong. "Tell you what, let's play a game. A challenge, if you will."

He watched her eyes snap up. Aha, he thought to himself. Quinn loved a challenge. "I'm listening..."

"If you can guess my middle name, I'll be a good boy for a good whole two weeks."

She returned his grin with a leveled stare. "Good boy, meaning...?"

"Meaning I'll study, not flirt with you, not make any sexual innuendos in class, get high grades, not cheat, uhm, basically, you know, your typical good boy." He rolled his eyes.

She laughed. "Okay, deal. How many chances do I get?" Quinn put away her book, which he took as a good sign. Whenever she put down whatever book she was reading, it meant her full attention was on him.

"As many as you want," he said confidently.

"You know I could just Google a baby name book and have your middle name by like, the end of our free period."

"You really think you have a chance at guessing my middle name in a book titled, '500,000 Baby Names'? he teased.

Quinn, who already had her phone out, scowled at him. "Alright, you have a point. Do I get hints?"

"If you go twenty names without being close, I'll start giving you hints," he said.

"Andrew, Adam, Brandon, Carter, Gregory, Jack, Keith, Noel, Nathan, Randall, Lionel, Michael, Thatcher, Chase, Stewart-"

"Imagine that. Sawyer Stewart Neeman." He shuddered. "It sounds so nerdy."

"Oh, shut up," she admonished. "For all you know, there's a completely buff Sawyer Stewart Neeman in... Paris or some other far-off place, who is tall, mysterious, and has had way more action than you."

"Neeman isn't a French name."

She glared at him. "Harry, Drew, Edward, Eric, Vance, Clayton, Tony - I think I'm over twenty, now."

"Alright, alright. Uhmmm let's see. You know this name because you say it a lot. Like, a whole lot."

Now she looked confused. "What? I do?" She thought back. "Trevor," she said, naming off one of their friends. He shook his head. "Alex, Donny, James?" She named another three of their classmates back in French 1. He shook his head again. "Robert." That was her father's name.

"Imagine what fun that would be if your dad and I had some similarities." He winked.

She groaned, and continued rattling off names, some so simple and mundane as "Bob" and even going as far as suggesting "Draco Malfoy" and "Napoleon". "I give up, Sawyer."

His eyes gleamed. "Seriously?"

"Yes." She sighed, and glared balefully at him. "I have this feeling you're pulling my leg. Ah, never mind. I prefer you as a bad boy, anyway." She turned away and blushed madly, hoping he wouldn't notice. She knew it would be ridiculous to even consider the thought.

"What was that? Could Quinn Amity Gregory actually have a soft spot for my bad boy-ness?" He inched closer to her, and watched in amusement as she inched away.

"Your head is getting way too big for my liking, Neeman," she hissed, and he fake-winced.

"Your hisses jab me in the heart with thy cruel words!" he cried out dramatically, turning away dramatically. When she didn't reply, he chuckled, and stared at her. "Shame though, since you actually guessed it right after you gave up."

Her eyes bugged open, and he nearly laughed out loud as he took in her surprised look. "What? What?"

"You guessed it," he said smugly, but without any malice.

Quinn screwed her face up in concentration and thought really, really hard. He waited for her to get it; he knew she would. She was a smart girl. Her eyes flew open then, and she hit him in the shoulder. Hard.

"Ow!!"

"Your middle name is Sawyer!?" she screeched, hitting him repeatedly. "You little bitch!"

He laughed out loud; he rarely saw her riled up like this. "I never said it was my first name," he said. "And you notice that I said nothing against you not knowing my middle name."

Sawyer let Quinn take out all her anger on him, and he smiled to himself. He was whipped. If this were any other girl, he'd find this annoying. But no. She finally ceased, and focused her brown eyes on him. "So what's your first name, then?" He had a small smirk on his face, and she groaned. "Are we going to go through the whole guessing game again? Because if we are I am so going to-"

"Levi."

"-make sure that I guess that and - wait, what?"

He smiled. "Levi Sawyer Neeman."

"Levi Sawyer Neeman." She tried it out, and Sawyer tried to hide how much he loved hearing her say his whole name. "Levi Sawyer Neeman." He laughed.

"I know my name's sexy, but you don't have to say it more times than necessary." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"So, can I call you Levi, now?"

He groaned. "Now I know how you feel when I call you Quinn Amity."

Her tone lightened, and she teased him. "Well, get used to it. I'm going to be calling you Levi for a long time."

Sawyer leaned in close to her, leaving her breathless. With his lips right next to her ear, he whispered. "Quinn, I'd let you call me anything you call me."

7. Steam

When she danced, he felt like she was setting his heart on fire.

Because she was a flame, an unending fire. An endless heat that flowed out of her fingertips into the souls of her audience. When she danced in the front, the audience went quiet; you could hear a pen drop.

When he danced, she felt like he soothed and smoothed down every fiber of her being.

He was a river, a continuous stream of cold water that just refreshed her. Drops of laughter and awe that rushed around her, making her feel at home. When he was dancing solo, it was like no one else was in the room.

Together, they were steam.

Together, they were fire and water; they were both a bubbling stream, and a concentrated, blue flame. They were known for their creative dances, for their undeniable chemistry.

And that was how they fell in love. 

6. Strangers in Airports

To Aya.

"Is there anyone sitting here?" 

Krystel looks up from An Imperial Affliction by Peter Van Houten. "I'm sorry, what?" 

A tall, dark-brown haired man who looks to be either her age or a year older, smiles down at her. It takes a while for Krystel to absorb the whole situation. She's currently waiting for her flight to Paris (business, not pleasure), which is a mere hour away from boarding. She had been waiting here for three hours, and was willing to walk to Paris if it meant she could get there before she boarded her plane. She finally looks up and appreciates the beauty that is the man smiling down at her, and wonders why on earth she decided now, of all days, to be dressed only in tattered jeans and a '#TeamCeleste' t-shirt. Suddenly, her white Converse sneakers seemed dirty and yellow-ish. 

He cleared his throat. "Sorry, I must have mumbled," he said sheepishly, offering her a smile. "I was wondering if anyone was sitting next to you?" Good lord, he's British, Krystel thought with a smile.

A quick glance around the waiting area confirmed her suspicion that the other seats were filling up. As if noticing her hesitation, he interceded quickly. "I mean, I know there are a few other seats left, but I don't exactly want to sit next to that guy," he said, nodding inconspicuously at a fat, balding, sleeping man, who occupied about two chairs, and had drool trickling down his double chin.

She laughed, the ice finally breaking, and moved her backpack off of the chair next to her. "It's a free country. And airport." 

Smiling gratefully at her, he eased down into the seat, letting out a huge sigh. "Thank you." He turned his head over to the side to smile at her. "You don't know how long I was debating with myself about asking you if I could sit here or not." 

"And the reason for that is...?" she left the statement unfinished, getting back to her book. 

"Well, you seemed so interested in that book. You look like the kind of person who prefers silence." He shrugged, his eyes (a nice, emerald green) asking her if he was correct.

Feeling suddenly conscious, she twirled a strand of her unruly black hair around her finger. "You could say that."

He suddenly slapped a hand against his forehead, making her jump. "I'm such an idiot."

Instead of asking him why he thought so, she shot him a questioning look, and he grinned. She realized that she liked it when he grinned; he seemed so boyish, and young. "Here I am, making all these assumptions about you, and acting like your best friend or something. And I don't even know your name. Heck, you don't know my name."

"Uh, so... you're asking for my name?" She clarified, not wanting to look like an idiot in front of him. 

He laughed, and nodded. "Yeah! Okay, I'll go first because it's traditional for the male to start. Hi. I'm Owen. I'm a twenty-two year old, six-foot, two inches tall child who doesn't know what he's doing in this world. I currently work as a banker, but I'd like to change that. My favorite color is brown and I like eating croissants." He paused. "Especially the ones with cheese. And you?" 

Krystel grinned. He was cute. "I'm Krystel. Twenty one years old and stuck in a boring world. I'm a dancer, and I'm on my way to Paris for this two month internship program my mom's forcing me to go to."

"Kryst-uhl," he tried saying, and failing miserably. His accent just wouldn't allow it. "Krystel," he said, finally. "Why do you say it in such a... unique manner?"

She shrugged. "Something I got from college. All my teachers would say my name like that. It was annoying at first, but I got used to it."

"Interesting," he said, "Wait, did you say you were going to Paris?"

Please let him be on the same flight as me, please let me be on the same flight as me... Oh, and please don't be a serial rapist- "Yeah. I leave in..." she checked her watch. "About thirty minutes. You?"

Owen looked like he practically deflated. "I'm on the one after yours, then. Shame."

She smiled kindly at him. "Well, it's not that big a deal."

"I like traveling with people I know," he said, frowning.

"So I'm guessing that it's a habit of yours to talk to random strangers in the waiting area?" she quipped, looking up at him. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?"

"I could say the same for you," he said, sticking his tongue out.

"You're so mature," she giggled, getting her book, and opening it to the place where she left off.

"What's it about?"

"It's an extremely long story. Interesting and full of lovable characters. You'd probably like it."

He moved his head a bit so he could see the title. "An Imperial Affliction," he read slowly. "Sounds boring."

She closed the book with a snap, her brown eyes wide. "Oh my goodness! You did not just judge a book by its cover!"

"Well-"

"You did not! So not cool, Owen!" she gasped, and turned away from him.

She could hear him chuckle. "A bit touchy with your books, eh?"

"Try more than a bit," Krystel huffed. "People like that annoy me."

"Well..." he drawled out, poking her shoulder repeatedly. "You could convince me to read it."

She rose an eyebrow at him. "You lost your chance, bud."

"Ouch," he said, leaning backwards, clutching his heart. "Meanie." He saw the corners of her mouth lift up in a smile. "I was merely suggesting we discuss it over coffee and... a croissant?" he added, almost hopefully, and she couldn't help but grin and look over at him.

"Owen, I'm leaving in 15 minutes. I don't know what I could possibly say in 15 minutes that would convince you to read something you think is boring."

"Try me." The challenge in his emerald green eyes was clear, and Krystel loved a challenge.

"Alright, so you should read this book because-"

"I'm sold," he said quickly, and smiled at her.

"You're joking." She burst out, blushing wildly.

He laughed. "All I needed was your word, love, and I'd read anything you told me to read." He winked. "Look, I-"

"All passengers for flight 5JJ41 for Paris, please approach the boarding clerks now."

"My flight," she said slowly, wondering if this was a chance she was supposed to take. He seemed nice enough, and he was, okay, hot, but...

"Okay, look. I'll prove it to you. Uhm, uhm, uhm," he said quickly, obviously trying to catch her attention, even as she was gathering up her things. "Give me your name. I'll find you. I promise," he said. "I'll read An Imperial Affliction before seeing you again, and I will find you."

She paused, looking at him. He who was a complete stranger, who was... Ugh. She hated split seconds like this. "Krystel. Just Krystel. If you're really going to find me and prove it to me, I'm going to make you work for it," she said smugly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Instead of appearing afraid of her challenge, he seemed... inspired. "Consider it done," he said, and grinned at her. "Have a safe flight. Good bye!"

"You too. Bye!" she nodded back at him, thinking that as she boarded the plane, that he was just too good to be true; too handsome, too funny, too nice. That he would never find her, and would never read An Imperial Affliction.

Well, guess what?

After five days in Paris, he did.