Maybe it was the never knowing what lies ahead, the feeling of not wanting to miss the what ifs. The existence of the what ifs per se. What if he's the one? what if having her completes him? what if this is the story that they were supposed to be living in? Mostly the answers were in their favor. The thrill blinds them. All the what ifs are giving them the feeling of excitement, everything finally fits in like a puzzle, never mind the actual jagged edges of each of the puzzle pieces, every song played in the radio coincides with whatever they were feeling, "I think it is like that when you're in love, even her name fits into the song lyrics perfectly"-- he'll say.

Then he smiles at her, and she smiles back, and they both smile to the world foolishly. As if they were reborn or as if they have awakened from a long rejuvenating sleep. As if they were a new and improved versions of themselves, as if their lives could have never been better. Every good news is just good and every bad news is just news. Suddenly, they have got this some sort of videogame power-up where they were indestructible and the two of them being together was bigger than anything else.

As if her mind will run out of memory, she documents everything. She took to writing every move he makes, every touch, every glances he stole, all the food he doesn't like, the places that he loves, the type of clothes he wears, the kind of jokes he laughs at, all the feelings that she has, the vows she has made for him, the promises they promised to keep, everything in detail as if she was writing an academic paper with a 30,000-page requirement. Along with her writing, she took photos. Every adventures they had, every meeting, every parting, everything was immortalized in her two dimensional world. She'd keep each photo with her, stick one at the back of her notebook, gives a few for him to keep, then keeps the others for viewing only by herself.

She prints tiny little quotes of happiness and sneaks one to him every now and then. He sneaks in too, into her life, slowly, but eternally. Sneaking in Good Morning's and remarks about how elegant she looks. Elegant was a word she never thought would be used to describe her. Elegant was a word used only by little boys and girls to show off their vocabulary, elegant was a word used only for princesses, and designer shoes, and fine jewelries. And now elegant is a word she'll fall further for.

In the night he'll come to her, not as constant as the stars would appear in the sky, but as impactful as everyone's first sighting of a shooting star. He'd bring her food that she'd eat in the car. She'd spill some, maybe the fries, on the floor of his newly washed car. He'd spill something too-- the secrets he holds dear. How he got the stitches on his forehead, how he thinks he has already lost the chance to grow closer to his parents, his worries about work, his worries about life. She'll listen, and she'll memorize it all, when they part for the day she'd imagine more times than she would admit, all the things that had happened throughout the day.

All the time there was a feeling of disbelief. He'll drive to work but won't have any idea how he got there. He'll be lost at the thought of her. Is she in one of the cars on this road? is she with someone else? will he be able to go home to her today? will she be able to wait that long? His heart sank. In every thought of her, his heart did this unexplainable jump that both excites and scares him, often all for the good reasons, but at times also for the things he could not give her.

She'd wait. She was young and she was capable. She felt that she had the time in the world. He felt that way too. She was happy. He was content. In everything she did, there was his silhouette beside her and in return, she's always just a phone call and a text away for him. There was no need to save each other's number, they memorized it-- all the two numbers each, by heart. 

She was big with feelings. She expressed everything in a manner that he couldn't resist. He was reserved. It often surprises him how she'd affect his emotions. She was patient, but she was not the kind that you would really want to be kept waiting. She was elegant-- in everything she did and even in the waiting. They were perfect. The time and the world isn't.