Time.

How much time is 'some time'?

I've never enjoyed time. It sets deadlines. Deadlines add pressure. Pressure causes stress. Stress causes breakdowns. Breakdowns cause... well, not much.

But I've never been a fan of time. It is only a figment of the imagination, anyway.

I learned that time is the ongoing sequence of events taking place. But sometimes I wish time would stop. I wish the sequence—the events—would just pause. Give everyone some time to breathe. Give everyone some time to... think.

Time is stressful. We should get rid of it.

~

Two weeks.

It was October, and neither Paul nor Owen had talked to me in two weeks.

I felt terrible for Sophie and Owen. They didn't have any place in this fight—was it a fight?

Honestly, I don't think I even expected Paul to talk to me after he asked for 'some time'. And it's nothing against him. I'd probably make the same decision if I were him. But it still upset me. It upset me more than it hurt me.

I waited patiently during those two weeks. I managed to cling on to the remaining hope that I had. There was very little hope, but it was there, and I needed it.

But, I lost the hope. After Paul didn't talk to me or look at me for a week, I could barely bring myself to look at him.

And like I said, his behavior didn't surprise me.

But it did, one day.

It was week three. October 8th.

Sophie and I were just hanging out by my locker. We hadn't hung out with Paul or Owen, so we were finally getting used to being on our own again.

And then he came.

We were both surprised when Paul came over to my locker. Sophie looked at me, then at Paul, and then walked away. I could feel my face growing hot.

Paul sighed. "I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that," I responded. "You're sorry for kissing me, sorry for ignoring me... what is it this time?"

Paul frowned. "I should have stayed with you. I should have explained, or let you tell me how you felt. And I'm sorry I didn't do that."

I nodded. "Thank you for apologizing."

He shrugged. "No problem. But I had my time and was hoping that now we could... I don't know, be friends?"

My face fell. "Sure," I responded.

Paul could sense my change in tone. "Do you want to be something more?" he questioned.

I shrugged. "I mean, yes. But, I... I can't risk not being your friend again."

He nodded. "I understand. I feel the same way. But... what does that mean for us, Natalie?"

I sighed. "I'm not sure, Paul."

We stood there for a while, neither one of us speaking because neither one of us needed to speak. We stared into one another's eyes. Paul took a step forward. He reached out and softly grabbed my arm. I had never realized how soft his hands were. I had never really been able to appreciate how much his eyes sparkled. I put my hand over his, and he removed it. Soon, he put it back into my hand. And the other one.

We were holding hands in the hall, gazing into each other's eyes, and wondering if we were a good enough match. It seemed almost silly to me. Sure, Paul wasn't perfect. But to me, he was.

I started raising my body and he started lowering his. We met in the middle.

I loved being this close with him again. I let my eyes drift close as our lip met, brushing lightly but sparks flying. He pulled away and rested his forehead on mine.

"They can't know," he whispered, slightly out of breath from how exhilarating the kiss was.

I nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. He meant he wanted to be with me. As more than a friend.

"Tomorrow, after school," I announced. "Meet me at my house."

He smiled and let out a light chuckle. "I can't believe this."

"Me neither."

We stayed standing like that with our foreheads pressed together until we heard footsteps coming down the now empty hall. We pulled away, both laughing slightly to ourselves, hands still intertwined. "I'll see you tomorrow," Paul said, slowly pulling his hands from mine.

I nodded. "Yep."

A smile was on my face. The biggest smile I've ever had. Paul shared it, too. He ran his thumb over my lips, muttering quietly to himself before turning around and walking away. I closed my locker and left, too.

It doesn't matter what happened after that. Because Paul had chosen. He had taken his time and had chosen.

And he had chosen me.