Page 58 of Overdue I Love You's
“Nah,” she brushes it off with a hand. “You’re giving social anxiety is my biggest enemy.”
It hits a nerve, but I’m well aware of it. “Is it too early to say I hate you?”
“Only if it’s too early to say I love you and you’re already the reason why I won’t lose my mind on this show?”
“Never,” I reply with a genuine smile.
Hina reflects my expression. “Then sure, hate me all you want.”
I’m beginning to learn I suck at hating people.
And later that night when Hina falls asleep, letting out soft snores, and I sneak onto the balcony to fill in empty pages of my colouring book with an icepack around my head, my phone dings with twomessages.
It’s nice seeing you again. It feels like fate, doesn’t it? :)
The second message makes me see red.
Nova.
Anonymous or not, it doesn’t take a neurologist to know who sent it.
Then I recall the moment at the party.
And I press my colouring markers a bit harder against the fun teddy-bear-at-a-coffee- shop page.
Let’s show him just howmessyNova Rivera can be.
Apparently, I’m not as messy as I think. Because here I am—after a restless night—standing in front of Dean’s door with a sticky note in my hand.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m upset with him. But, the way Rhys attacked him for his past is not okay. I’m doubting Dean’s every intention, but he’s human.
I wake up to the migraine pulling at the beginning of my scalp. It’s better than last night, which is good enough. Small blessings. But I am blaming it forthisbad decision.
Without overthinking it too much, I stick the note on his door and run back into my room on tippy toes.
Birds are chirping, the cameras are back on, and everyone is still asleep.
The balcony door shuts behind me. Breathing in the fresh, salty air of the morning, I’m grateful for being here. I finally take in the backyard and my skin tingles in all the right ways.
Plants. Flowers. Every existing naturistic root lies in a perfectly cut border along the ends of the backyard. There’s a cobblestone pathwayleading into a forest I walked through yesterday, but it’s lighter now.
Without the nerves, my heart feels full.
To the left, a couple of vines cover a gate with a no-entry sign. From the sound of water splashing against the walls of the mountains, it’s easy to tell that’s where it leads.
Taking the stairs of the balcony down to my version of heaven, I peer through each plant. I don’t have my tools with me, but a couple of kitchen tools can do the trick if I work carefully.
My love for plants came from my first part time job. Cornwall has limited options. If you didn’t work at the local grocery store, you worked on shore. I didn’t like the smell of grocery bags or fresh fish. That’s why I begged Mrs. Little to hire me.
Quite an intelligent woman and her hands? Don’t get me started on the sophistication of her work. She’s on the level of henna artists but with plants. She’s the root whisperer—a seductress, and me? I was seduced to the max.
She speaks about plants with respect and having done her undergrad in Botany, she exists to recite their language word for word.
I’m privileged enough to have a slither of her knowledge.
It started as a hobby and when I was studying at UofT, I also took a workshop course in Oakville. Hence, how I have my certification to open up my own store.
I crouch onto the grass. My fingers shift through the soil.
