Page 3 of Only After We Met
“Where are we going?”
“We?” He turned around.
“I know I just told you I don’t know you, but if you turn around and leave right now… I think I’ll follow you.”
Rhys looked surprised.
“I mean, yeah, let’s go. Because I don’t know where I am and I don’t have any data on my phone because the company sold me this garbage plan and… I feel like if I stay, I’ll end up getting eaten by a bear or whatever happens when you get lost in a city instead of an enchanted forest. You know what I mean.”
“I don’t have the damnedest idea what you mean.” He smiled.
“Whatever. Just…don’t leave me.”
“Fine, but you need to relax and go with the flow.”
I nodded and he laughed. And I followed him. I followed him without thinking another thought, bought a couple of train tickets, and cut through the crowd to get into the first subway car that stopped there.
I didn’t know then that my life was going to change.
That Rhys would be a before and after.
That our paths would join forever.
2
Rhys
What was I doing? No fucking idea.
Ten minutes before, I’d gotten out of the subway ready to go home (if I could call it home), thinking I’d heat up a cup of noodles and eat it while I mindlessly watched TV without sound or put on some music and read.
But instead, there I was, sitting on the subway next to a girl who looked even more lost than I did, which wasn’t an easy thing to imagine, our legs were rubbing against each other’s, and I still hadn’t decided where to get off, because I was making it up as I went along, as always.
“I don’t like not knowing where we’re going.”
“Two more stops and we’ll get out,” I said with a smile.
She made me nervous. Every inch of her, from her feet in her red Converse to her brown hair pulled back carelessly in a ponytail. Maybe because I hadn’t found a label for her yet.Ginger. That was her name, I kept telling myself. She was a complete blank to me, I guess because she seemed to have everything under control, but she’d actually just hopped a plane a few hours ago for no reason.And that didn’t make sense. Nor did the unexpected tremor I felt when I saw her cursing in front of the ticket machine. So short. So funny. So pissed… She reminded me of a child’s cartoon.
“Where are you from, exactly?” I asked. It was obvious she was English, but I couldn’t tell from where by her accent. Her voice was soft, almost raspy.
“London. You? No, wait, let me guess.”
“Fine.” This amused me.
“Alabama?”
I shook my head.
“You’ve got a Southern accent though.”
“Try a little further north.”
“Tennessee.”
“Yep. That’s it.”
“What are you doing in Paris?”