14 DAYS OF VALENTINE'S

This morning felt different. Like the universe had sprinkled a little extra magic into the air. Carrie would probably call it something ancient and poetic when I'm the poet. Normally, I'd roll my eyes when she waxed on and on about the wonders of rising early. But today? I got it. There really was something special about the hush of dawn, the way the world stretched awake with me.

Not to forget the excitement that was still buzzing in my chest. I have never wished for morning to arrive faster but after yesterday, I found myself looking forward to dawn. A dreamy sigh slipped from my lips, a smile playing on my lips as yesterday's events came rushing in like a highlighting reel. 

I barely had a chance to breathe once my friends and I entered our house before they pounced on me, practically vibrating with questions. I had no choice but to spill everything—every moment with Nick, from our casual conversation to the completely unexpected visit to his house. The incident with the gecko that ended up with him wrapping me in his large strong arms. The memory made me blush even harder and kick my legs in the blanket, giddiness filling me to the brink. Embarrassment washed me next when I remembered how I bit him on the neck. Like seriously, why did I do that? What kind of message did that send to Nick? 

I didn't hold back. My excitement was way too obvious, and by the time I finished, my best friends were staring at me like I'd grown an extra head. The reaction was no unexpected. Like they said: it's been too long since I dated. I know I kind of said I have dated a lot, but that was just me flirting with them. To keep the delusion that I was seeing people. So, when my two friends started squealing and teasing me endlessly.

To most people, letting Nick get that close might have seemed normal. But to my friends, it was a big deal. Seeing the relief and happiness in their eyes—that meant everything to me.

"So, is he courting you, or is it the other way around?" Lizzy's question from last night echoed in my mind. It was simple, even playful, but it left an ache in my chest and stirred a creeping unease.

We weren't doing that. Sure, we flirted, but it was too early to say there was real chemistry. We'd just had our first civil conversation yesterday. That conversation had ended with me jumping him, him asking if I had a boyfriend, and then resting his hand on my shoulder—possessively—while Jay was around.

Still... it was too early. Wasn't it?

Lizzy had sighed dramatically, complaining about how we humans always insist on complicating everything. However, the most important question I had was: if he decided to court me, would I let him? And that question was enough to snuff the giddiness zapping in my veins and replaced it with raw unease and slightly frayed nerves. I took in deep breathes, inhaling and releasing while counting up to thirty. Once I felt settled and I let out a loud sigh and tilted my head to my beside clock only to find out it was 4:50 a.m.

I blinked. No way.

I blinked again. Still 4:50 a.m.

"This is ridiculous," I groaned, reaching for my phone, hoping the clock had conspired with my sleepy brain to lie to me. But nope. I couldn't go back to sleep, especially when I had already started overthinking things. With a resigned sigh, I got up, grabbed my laptop and decided to be as well productive in doing the research on the silent film era.

I quickly got lost in the fascinating world of old Hollywood. It amazed me how silent films could transcend language barriers, drawing audiences in without the need for captions or sound. Back then, everyone could fully experience a story—no translation required.

And the actors? Absolute daredevils. No stunt doubles, no safety harnesses—just raw, fearless commitment. I admired that. An actor should experience every facet of their character's journey.

I was deep into writing and researching when a sound outside my room pulled me back to reality. Curious, I set my laptop aside, walked towards the door and cracked open my door. There, in the dim light of dawn, stood Carrie—already up, dressed in her glittering gray sports attire, her braids neatly tied back as she stretched. She must have sensed me since she paused on her activities and looked towards me. I watched in amusement as her eyes rounded in surprise.

"I swear I'm not hallucinating or sleep-deprived enough to start seeing things," She said, blinking at me as if I might vanish at any second.

I grinned. "Hi."

"You're actually here," she murmured, her tone filled with disbelief as I stepped fully into the hallway.

"As real as it gets," I declared, feeling a ridiculous sense of pride. I was never a morning person.

Carrie folded her arms, giving me a suspicious once-over. "Why are you up at this hour?"

"Good morning to you too," I retorted, feigning offense. "Can't a girl wake up early just to… I don't know, enjoy the morning magic you always rave about?" 

Her skeptical stare was enough to wither a houseplant. "Hmm. This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain neighbor, would it? You're not up to casually 'bump into him' during his morning run, right?" she asked.

I opened my mouth to protest, but—well. She wasn't wrong. Nick did enjoy morning runs. It wasn't why I got up early, but now that she mentioned it, why not go with it, right?

Carrie narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "But you're not that desperate, are you?"

"Desperate? Me?" I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Please. I'm not one to chase after men—they chase after me."

Carrie hummed thoughtfully. "Right. So, this is purely for the 'magic' of the morning?" she quoted still skeptical.

"Obviously," I said, flipping my braids for dramatic effect. "And what's so wrong with me joining you for a jog, anyway? I sacrificed my precious sleep to keep you company, and you accuse me of stalking? Are men really that scarce?"

Carrie barely blinked. "Statistically speaking, yes. There is a shortage of men. A good percentage are gay." I shot her a glare. She grinned. Of course, Carrie—the fashionista was also a math whiz and fact checker.

"Are you planning to run in your pajamas?" Carrie asked, arching a brow as she gestured at my cartoon-covered sleepwear. It was a bluey Pajamas.

I blinked glancing down at myself. Right. Jogging wasn't exactly on my plan today. 

"Just a sec!" I called, darting back into my room.

I rushed to the bathroom—splashed water on my face, brushed my teeth, then tore into my closet looking for something to jog in.Why did picking an outfit for a jog feel as stressful as getting dressed for a date? Everything was either too tight, too baggy, too revealing, or just... blah.

"I need a wardrobe intervention," I muttered, glaring at the growing pile of rejected activewear on my bed.

"If you take one more second, I'm leaving without you!" Carrie shouted from the living room, her voice sharp with impatience.

Panicking, I grabbed the first set of clothes my hands touched: black tights, a gray sports bra, and a matching running jacket. Simple. Functional. Not embarrassing.

After a speed-run version of freshening up, I bolted for the living room just as Carrie reached for the door.

"Here!" I gasped, more from the rush than any actual running.

She gave me a look and simply said, "Let's go."

And with that, we hit the road.

I welcomed the gentle crisp morning air wrapped around me, cool against my skin as my feet found their rhythm against the pavement. The soft chirping of the birds as sky begins to lighten, shifting from deep blue to shades of lavender and peach. The sun hasn't quite risen yet, but its presence was hinted at by a warm glow along the horizon.

Carrie, ever the seasoned runner, picked up the pace effortlessly, leaving me scrambling to keep up. But as my breathing leveled out, I started to find my rhythm.

I used to wonder why anyone would willingly exhaust themselves by running this early in the morning. I hated it, honestly. Back in high school, during second term, we had this thing called cross country—mandatory morning runs that stretched for miles before school. Skipping it earned you punishment. So yeah, I'd built up a healthy resentment for early runs.

But now... there was something almost magical about the scent of the morning air, the cool breeze brushing against my skin, and the quiet beauty of a new day slowly unfolding. It felt freeing—like I'd unlocked a secret part of the world I'd been sleeping through all these years.

Maybe Carrie had been onto something all along.

And then, just as I was getting lost in the moment, there he was.

Nick.

The man who had somehow taken up residence in my thoughts. The reason I was even here at this hour.

Drenched in the afterglow of an intense workout, he jogged toward us, his black tank top clinging to his frame in ways that should be illegal. His gray running pants hung low on his hips, his muscles flexing with every movement. A sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, proof of the miles he had already conquered.

Nick's steady approach was like something out of a movie—fluid, effortless, annoyingly perfect. His arms flexed with each stride, his breathing controlled, and then… his gaze locked onto mine.

And I was done for. The breath got knocked out of my chest. Time seemed to stretch as I flailed, gravity taking the wheel. One second, I was running. The next, I hit the pavement—face-first, right in front of the very man I had been hoping to impress.