TWO WEEKS AFTER I met Juliet, a storm struck. It might've been two weeks, it might've been three. Time didn't seem entirely important to me, in those lazy summer months before my senior year. I spent afternoons at Hyun's house, playing video games and talking and napping. Evenings we both spent at Ayah's, goofing around, talking and talking and talking. I could've done this forever. I can't clearly recall a single clear moment from that period—all of it was a haze of laughter and warmth and safety. Is it any surprise then, that the one thing that stands out to me is the storm?

            Branches broke off and blew in the wind. Rain battered against the roof. I watched raindrops chase after each other on my windowpane. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and it sounded like mountains waking up. I was bored out of my mind; the storm put a wrench into my plans—I wouldn't brave a storm, especially not like this one, just so I could visit Hyun. The wi-fi was down. I wasn't in the mood for reading; I felt restless. What does one do in a storm?

            Nothing. Lie down. Nap for a while. Get out of the room and make some hot chocolate. Make chit-chat with your parents who are waltzing to some Billie Holiday record. My mother and father were still in love with each other after two decades and two children, and it shamed me sometimes, how unashamed they were with each other. It was almost obscene, how my middle aged parents still acted like some of the couples from my school. Maybe what I felt was envy. How strange, to feel envious of your own parents. Nobody ever wants to be like their parents; neither did I. But the way they were, how they were paragons of kindness and intelligence and love made me feel, more often than not, angry at myself. None of their good traits were passed on to me. Maybe my sister absorbed everything while she was in my mother's womb. Maybe I was left with nothing.

            You can see I was a real bummer.

            I asked them if my sister was going to come over for the summer. No, she wasn't. Summer school, honey, you know how college is. I don't. Laughter. I asked them if the internet was working. They didn't know, and besides, wasn't it supposed to be me who was the tech wizard? More laughter, none from me.

            I lived a relatively sheltered life, I'll admit. I was lucky. I had two very loving parents. I was bound to live a normal life—one that could be as normal for someone like me, anyway—a normal existence.

            I wish I could go back and grasp myself by the shoulder and tell the seventeen year old kid that I once was to stop being such a pig-headed idiot. Stop being such a miserable ass. Savor every moment of your life while it's still normal. Get out of that house, be somewhere else. Brave that storm. Go to Hyun's house. Don't be there when that bell rings. Don't open that door.

            Our doorbell rang. My parents and I exchanged glances. You go get it.

            I sighed, got out of my seat at the kitchen table, and headed to the door.

            Who'd be enough of an idiot to be out in this storm?

            Juliet. Her hair was wet and plastered all over her face, her clothes clung to her body, and her face was pale. I blinked, opened my mouth. No words came out.

            She was smiling. I thought, in some dim part of my mind, how lovely. You see, Juliet used her tenderness like a weapon. A flash of teeth, a fluttering of her lashes, a turn of the mouth—she had you. Hook, line and sinker. I fell for it. How could I not?

            "Come in," I said, before I was even aware of what I was saying.

            She didn't even have to say anything. Even after being completely soaked through, to the point I could see the outline of her bra under her white shirt, she still managed to bewitch me. Jealousy pricked at the nape of my neck, but then she turned her head and smiled at me and I smiled back.

            "Who's there?" asked my father, from where he sat in the kitchen.

            "A friend," I called back.

            "Is it Hyun? Ayah?" said my mother.

            "No, it's Juliet."

            A pause for silence. They hadn't heard of her before, and I think they were trying to decide what to do. She dripped water all over the floor. Her back was turned to me. My eyes were on the strap of her bra, and I felt like a pervert, but I couldn't take my eyes off of it.

            "Should I leave?" she asked, her voice low and unsure.

            "No," I said. "I'll go talk to them."

            I talked to them. They didn't mind as much as I thought they would. Conditions: she shouldn't get the carpet wet. She should get a hot cup of tea, or coffee, or hot chocolate—whichever one she preferred. And I'd do everything, not expect my parents help. I agreed. I was eager to get back to Juliet, ask her why she was here. We went up to my room, and she asked for a towel. I gave one to her (I wouldn't wash that towel for a few days), and she set it down on my bed and sat on top of it.

            I didn't ask her anything. I watched her. She watched me. I was searching for words; I don't know what she was doing.

            "Sorry," she said, after one long awkward silence. "My car broke down, and my phone's dead, and your house happened to be the nearest one."

            "Oh," I said. I had a hard time, all of a sudden, getting words out of my mouth. I wanted to ask her how she knew where I lived, but I didn't. I basked in this little fact. Juliet knew where I lived. "That's fine."

            "I'm sorry for imposing on you like this," she said.

            "It's fine, really, it is," I said. "You should wear something dry. Drink something warm. You'll get a cold otherwise."

            Juliet laughed. "I didn't think you were the mothering type."

            "I'm the 'try-not-to-get-acquaintances-sick' type," I said.

            "Acquaintance? Is that what I am?" She tilted her head, looked up at me from under her lashes.

            "What do you want to be?"

            "A friend," she said, simply.

            "Alright, friend." I felt warm all over. "You really should wear something dry."

            "Are you going to offer me some of your clothes?" she asked, and I don't know if I was imagining it or not, but there was something playful about her, all of a sudden.

            I did offer her some of my clothes. She wore one of my sweaters, and of course, it looked better on her than it would ever do on me. I made her some hot chocolate. We made chit-chat, small talk, and I couldn't remember any of it because my heart was hammering away in my chest so hard I couldn't even believe that whatever I said was anywhere near coherency. Like with every second I spent talking with her I was this much closer to suffering from a heart attack. For two weeks, I'd been thinking about her and I only realized it now, when I'd been trying to impress her with my meagre conversation skills. For two weeks, I'd been seeing glimpses of her in my head—the flash of her wrist, the glint of her eye, fragments—and here she was, in front of my eyes. I couldn't tell why she overwhelmed me, only that I wanted nothing more than to please her.

            The storm let up. I didn't even notice.

            "Look at that," she said, looking out of my window. "I think I should get going."

            "Do you need a lift?"

            "No, it's fine. Can I use your phone?"

            "Sure," I said. I was relieved, in a way. Finally, she'd leave. Finally, I'd be able to breathe.

            I left the room—I didn't want to intrude on her privacy while she made the call. The wi-fi was back up. TV was working, too. I was glad for that. I needed to be distracted from thinking too much about Juliet's visit, after she left, I didn't want to think about what I should have done, what I could have done, what I should have said. I didn't want to assign too much importance to what was essentially just a little visit out of necessity.

            She came out, looking pleased.

            "My boyfriend's going to be here in a while," she said, and sat next to me.

            I said nothing, tried not to let my shock show. What did I expect? For a girl like Juliet to be single? Already, I was constructing the image of her boyfriend in my head—handsome, charming, clever, white—and oddly enough, I didn't feel envy. Maybe if I'd have a chance, I would've been jealous. What was I supposed to be jealous of, though? I hardly knew Juliet. All I had was some inappropriate fledgling crush. No fucking biggie.

            Juliet was looking at me.

            "I have to repay you sometime," she said. "For all this."

            "Aw, it was nothing," I said. "You don't have to."

            "I'll pay you back, you'll see," she said. "Thank you."

            She put her hand on mine. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew exactly what it was I wanted. I hated her for it. I didn't move.

            "I'll see you later," said Juliet, her voice low. I wanted her to kiss me. She didn't, of course. She had a boyfriend.

            "See you," I said.

            Walked her to the door. Waved bye to her. Was on a big pink-tinted cloud, with Cupid's arrow right through my chest. Had hearts for eyes. Hated Juliet for doing this to me, for pulling her weird hormonal magic on me and making me all horny for her. Didn't even notice she forgot to return my sweater. Hated her for that, too.

            Look, I'm going to take a break. I can't think about this too much. I'll get angry, drown in my memories and the last thing I need is to go into a downward spiral of regret. Again.

            And besides, I like taking my time.

//

a/n: oooo wow i love making metaphors uhhhb buuhhh im deep and i love writjng god. whatever. here's my word barf, excuse me if it doesn't make sense w/e w/e enjoy your lives have a great day etc. etc.