Never Thought I'd End Up Here

by Ann Liang

“If by very well you mean that I have dreamed of murdering you,” I mutter. Cyrus’s gaze flits to my face. Lingers an extra beat. “So you’ve dreamed of me?”

On a bad day, books offer a language for your pain, and on a good day, books remind you just how precious your life is.

A gorgeous celebrity grins down at customers from a massive banner, holding up a new shade of lipstick like he’s proposing with it, his name scribbled at the bottom: Caz Song.

Little references!!

Leah. You remind me of the greatest sculptors, who can turn marble into the impression of billowing silk, the coldest stone into something soft. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that everything you touch turns beautiful. The world becomes beautiful, as long as there’s you.

His smile feels like a warning, but it’s not the kind that precedes a prank. It’s too sincere, his voice dropping low as he says, “I’ll keep being your enemy, if that’s what you’d prefer.” His eyes drop down too, drifting to my lips with such weight and intent that I can almost feel the ghost brush of his gaze. “I can be whatever you want me to be.”

He could be getting ready to confess that he’s a vampire, my brain volunteers. Or he could have caught you looking at him like you want to lick his neck— I do not want to lick his neck, I argue, kicking an innocent pebble in protest. I’m your brain, my brain reminds me. You can’t hide anything from me. And it’s painfully obvious how attracted you are to Cyrus, even though you should really cut that out and refocus on the part where you reject him in the most humiliating fashion—of course, you’d need him to actually say that he likes you first— I tell my brain to shut up.

“I can stop talking about it if that’s what you want,” he goes on. “I can promise to never bring this up again. But I meant it when I said that I can be whatever you want me to be: whether that’s an enemy for you to curse and hold a grudge against for the rest of your life; a friend you can trust to accompany you anywhere and drive you safely back home, the one you can call at any hour of the night and tell all your secrets to; or the person you fall for, who will always wear a jacket so you don’t have to bring yours, who will be the first to find you when you’re lost and alone, who will remind you how heart-wrenchingly, unfathomably beautiful you are even on days when you don’t feel it. The only thing I ask is that we don’t ever become strangers, because I really—” He breaks off. Clenches his jaw, fighting against some ineffable emotion. “I don’t think I could bear it, Leah. I don’t think my heart would be able to survive it.”

Oh girllll thats such an awesome guy

“Qin ai de.” I recognize the words. “Did you just call me your worst enemy?” He smiles against my lips. “I was lying.” “What?” “Qin ai de doesn’t mean my worst enemy,” he says. “It means my love.”

thank you wikipedia for translating that for me early on *evil smile

All around the hotel, for six floors down and as far as I can see, other travelers have hurried out onto their balconies to watch the fireworks too. Fathers balance their toddlers high up on their shoulders for a better view, happy couples wrap their arms around each other, mothers usher their children over from the bedroom. A gray-haired woman shakily retrieves her phone to start recording, maybe to send to her partner or her grandchildren. I don’t know any of them, and they might be traveling for a family holiday or a honeymoon or a business trip, and they could be from the neighboring town or halfway across the world, but we’re all standing here right now. And my heart swells at the silly, simple, human fact that when we stumble upon something beautiful, our first instinct is to show it to the people we love. It’s what we do with pretty seashells on a beach, a radiant sunset, a rare bird flitting through the trees, a herd of wild horses grazing in the countryside. Look, we say, saving these little pieces of beauty for each other. Do you see it too? Isn’t the world such a strange, lovely, breathtaking place?

Cyrus shakes his head. “No fantasy could ever live up to you,” he whispers. “Nothing can compare to how it feels to look up and see you there. Even though I thought of you every day after you left, my imagination has proven to be painfully inadequate when it comes to the sound of your laughter, or how your brows furrow when you’re focused, or the way you steady yourself before entering a room. And you’re going to make fun of me for saying it, but part of me is worried,” he says, dropping his gaze to the white glimmer of water, “that this is just a spell. This whole trip has been so strange and wonderful and unexpected … It’s like there’s magic here, and I can’t stop myself from worrying that when we leave this place, the magic will disappear for you, and none of it will be real anymore.”

Nothing’s perfect, but everything’s wonderful.