“Mismatched Pt. 2”

Author’s Note: This is a Take Ten to Write story and has not been proofread for errors. If I feel inspired or if there’s interest in the story, I’ll post a revised, edited, and extended version at a later date. Happy reading!

Additional Note: While this story can be read by itself, it is a continuation of a previous Take Ten to Write story. Therefore, it would be beneficial to read Mismatched first.

Prompt: “Gray skies are just clouds passing over.” – Duke Ellington

I wish I could say that I was totally cool about falling in love at first sight. I wish I could say that I didn’t try finding her on social media and when I eventually did, I wish I could say that I didn’t stalk her every platform religiously.

Unfortunately, as you’ve probably gathered by now, I can only wish for those things. As much as I tried to hide my creepy stalker habits, Miranda eventually picked up on it and used her special “I’m-injured-so-you-have-to-do-everything-I-say” power to make me tell her everything. And you know what? I told her. Because there’s no one else for me to tell.

Still, even though Miranda kept bugging me to, I never contacted her. As far as I could tell from my intensive investigating, this woman–Ava Wilcox–is single, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to be that weirdo who randomly messages her over social media to ask her out. No, instead I’ll be the weirdo who continuously stalks her until I eventually get over my stupid high school crush.

So here we are, three weeks later, in yet another hailstorm, driving to get Miranda some more Mexican food. I’m beginning to think that hailstorms give Miranda a craving for Mexican food.

I pull in and, once again, brace myself against the hail as I race inside. I shake myself off and head to the counter. Thoughts of Ava linger in the back of my mind, but I shake them away; the chances of her being here right now are near impossible, so it’s best not to get my hopes up.

Still, the ring of the doorbell makes me jerk up my head, heart pounding. But it’s just a family walking in, their little boy crouching down to examine the fallen pieces of hail in front of him.

I pay for my food before lingering near the napkin stand, my heart still optimistic for some reason.

Finally, I accept the fact that she’s not coming. I said it myself; the chances of her being here right now are near impossible.

The glare of headlights envelops me and I squint, almost dropping the bag. When the lights turn off, I see a familiar face peering back at me through the hail.

A grin spreads across my face. I did say that the chances are near impossible, after all.

Final Comments: I had a really hard time writing this one for some reason, even though I knew exactly what I wanted to write. I feel like the wording and sentence structures were just kind of meh.

Overall Rating: 😕