“Do you believe that shooting stars can grant you a wish?”
She asked with her doe-eyed eyes that it is probably clearer than the sky and deeper than the sea. Even under the mercy of the vast night sky filled with stars lightyears away, she seems to still outshine them all.
“Hopefully.” I try to mirror the beauty her smile gives. I failed.
“Remember, I used to not believe those kinds of things because they sound absurd.” She chuckled. Heaven almost opened. One of its angels escaped.
I hummed. Waiting. Something about this moment tells me to let her be. The wind suddenly felt colder and as an instinct, I wrapped my arm around her and rubbed it. Hoping that it can reciprocate the warmth she makes me feel when she laughs at my silly jokes.
“I’m a believer now.”
“What’s with the change?”
Suddenly, she was not cold anymore. The shade of pink slowly traveled from her neck to her cheeks until it reached her ears. And as shyness became more evident on her face as the time passed by, I froze. The air I breathe swiftly felt like it was not enough anymore.
“I’m going on a date tomorrow. Sean asked me out.”
There it is. The sting of an injection. The pain when you step on shards of glass. The cut when you use the knife improperly. The prick continuously harasses your heart making it bleed nonstop.
“You wished that he would ask you out on a date?” I whispered. Silently praying that I am just dreaming. That the shooting star will still grant me my wish that I’ll be the one who she’ll share all of her nights with. Hopefully –
“I wished that someone would be brave enough to ask for my love.”
She looked at me like she wanted to say more. Like the way I chant internally, “say it” … “say it” … “say it”. But just like the coward I am, I offered her the sincerest smile I can offer. I held her hand like it was going to be the last time I’ll be free to do so. Before someone else holds it.
“You deserve it.”
She does. She deserves someone brave. Someone who would dare to challenge every doubt that may come the way. Someone who would not hope that a shooting star would miraculously tell her how much she means.
Perhaps this is my sign to stop believing in shooting stars. Maybe the universe doesn’t allow all wishes to come true because if it does –
𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆.
Written by: wanderer
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