Page 55 of Writing Mr. Right

Alarm bells go off in my head. I push myself up. “Bad different?”

She giggles and shakes her head. “No,” she assures me. A laugh bubbles out of her. “Amazingdifferent.” She comes over and sits next to me. “Wonderful different. Different like…this is who you’re meant to be.”

I shrug good-naturedly. It’s still a little strange for me to accept compliments. “Maybe it is.”

“Well, you were great,” she says. “I swear, I’ve never seen someone schmooze like you did.”

“I don’t think it’s about schmoozing,” I correct. “It’s more about…finding genuine connection. And when you do that, genuine feelings come out. And then it’s fun and easy to talk to people.” I point to her. “Thatis what we need more of. People opening up and relating to each other.”

Emily shakes her head, a breathless stare on her face. “Aashiq is doing such good work with you.”

The alarm bells return, and I bolt up straight. “What? What do you mean?” She can’t have possibly figured out he’s not real, right? She can’t know he’s my writing muse come to life to help me get back to writing.

She furrows her brows at my sudden movement, but she just says, “I only mean he’s obviously rubbing off on you. Everything you’ve done tonight…it’s all soAashiqof you.”

I frown. “Really?”

Emily scoffs. “Definitely. And it’s not a bad thing—it’s inevitable for partners to absorb each other’s behavior after they start dating.”

“Oh.” Okay, good. She’s not suspicious, then.

“You must really love him,” she speaks again.

My pulse picks back up. “Wh-what?” I clear my throat, trying to keep my hysteria down. “How do you figure?” I squeak out.

“Because he’s making your life better,” she responds with no hesitation. “Anyone can see that. You wake up every morning and go on a run with him. Then you come home and have a good breakfast. You pack a lunch every day, and you come home andcookdinner. You also haven’t been complaining about work as much; it seems like whatever you’re doing, you’re enjoying.” She shakes her head. “I mean, how long have I been trying to convince you to ditch the box dinners and takeout? How long have I been trying to convince you to go to the gym with me? And then with everything that happened tonight—you were a rock star, and you never would have done any of that stuff before you met Aashiq.” When she smiles, it’s like she’s a proud mother watching her child go off to kindergarten without crying. “You seem so much lighter these days.”

Something heavy rolls around in my gut, and I fight the urge to curl into a ball. “Well, that’s any relationship, right?”

“Oh, I’m not done.” She straightens up. “It’s not just about introducing a better lifestyle for you. I haven’t seen you so engrossed in writing in such a long time.”

I furrow my brows. “What do you mean? I write all the time.”

“Not like this.” Emily’s response is quick. “Not forfun, and certainly not for something you think will have an end result.” She tilts her head. “You know for days I was finding sticky notes with book ideas on the bathroom mirror? Your grocery lists are basically stories. You’re always coming home with stuff to journal with. And you’re doing it all with asmile. I feel like whenever I saw you writing in your room or on the couch, it was always in the dark, always alone, and always with tension creasing your forehead. It’s like…everything about life stopped being fun for you. And you’re finding the fun again.” She blows out a breath of air. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.” Then, she shakes her head and gives me a teasing grin. “You must be really falling for him.”

My lower lip wobbles. My eyes warm like a geyser of tears is going to shoot out of them. Because she’s right; I think Iamfalling for him, and I don’t know what to do. How would a relationship between us even work? I guess I can touch him and see him, and so can other people when he allows it, but how am I supposed to tell people where we met? How am I supposed to explain the fact that he has no family? He doesn’t have a social security number, which will complicate things if he ever wants to get a real job or if we ever try to buy a house or something. He doesn’t even have legal documentation to show he’s a citizen of the country.

But aside from all that… I don’t even know if he feels the same way about me. Okay, yeah, he might have almost kissed me in the fountain, but since then he’s kept a respectful distance. Sometimes I think there might be more between us, but what if he’s just being nice because he’s here to help me? Andwhat if by falling in love with him, I’m falling in love with myself—maybe it’s some weird form of narcissism?

My eyes must’ve glazed over because I snap back to attention when Emily says, “Oh, no.” I blink a couple of times, and once I’m focused, I see the tension in her face as she bites her lower lip. “You’re spiraling. I’m making you spiral.” She takes both of my hands in hers and stares at me squarely. “I’m not saying all this stuff to freak you out or make you think you shouldn’t be falling for him,” she starts. “I’m saying it because I want you to acknowledge how he makes you feel.” She squeezes my hands. “You more than anyone deserve happiness. And if Aashiq is bringing it to your life, then I’m so happy, even if it’s making me slightly jealous because you have a guy, who you’ve only been dating for a short time, who makes dinner with you and takes you out for walks every day and I can’t even get my boyfriend of two years to put a ring on it.”

A snort escapes my nose, and I swallow thickly before leaning over and wrapping Emily in a hug. “Thanks, Em,” I whisper against her shoulder.

She returns my hug, patting my back. “Anytime, girl.” Her pocket pings, and she pulls back to check it. “Our Uber’s here.” She stands up. “Come on. Also, I’m going to order a pizza on the way back home. There was barely anything real to eat here and I’mstarving.”

“Oh, Aashiq got a pizza before we left,” I remind her. “Maybe there’s still some left.”

Emily wrinkles her nose. “No offense, Zee, but your boyfriend hasextremelyweird taste. I’m not touching that chocolate-covered pizza with a ten-foot pole.”

I open my mouth to defend him, but then just hook my arm through hers on the way to the exit. “I can’t argue with you there. Make sure to get mushrooms.”

26

The next day, after a long day at the office and a hearty meal of home-cooked ratatouille (which I managed all on my own, thank you!), Aashiq and I settle in my bedroom to get back to work on the book. Emily’s on night shift, so we don’t have to speak in hushed tones. I even turn on my writing playlist, so the music plays softly in the background. I’ve changed into my comfiest pajama bottoms and a BTS T-shirt with a cardigan on top, which I’ve found myself reaching for a lot more lately when the cold nips at my bones. Yes, it happens to be the same one Aashiq helped me into when we went on our first brainstorming walk together. Ever since then it feels much warmer than it used to.

It’s about a week until Christmas, so work has finally started to slow down in the lead-up to our closure for the holidays. Now that I have a bit more free time, I’ve outlined some scenes and come up with others I think I want to go in the book, but the problem is I don’t know which order they should go in. I think part of the issue is I can’t think of a way to connect all the scenes because my main conflict still feels kind of weak.

I voice as much to Aashiq, who is currently stretched out ontop of my bed, his arms folded and resting behind his head. Unlike me, he’s still in the clothes he wore to work today, which is a pair of black dress pants and a thin white button-up that shows off both his muscular upper arms and a thin slice of skin above his belt with the way his arms are positioned. I can’t look at his face without my eyes straying to his rippling biceps, and I can’t stare at his chest without my gaze traveling downward, so I force myself to focus on the slit in his eyebrow. “Okay, let’s get into some details,” he suggests.

---