ALYA'S SIDE
I have butterflies fluttering,
swirling around inside my belly
when I'm with you.
I hear bell chimes ringing,
as if carried by a spring breeze—
when I'm with you.
Oh, this tingling feeling
makes me want to leap,
makes me want to shout across the room.
This longing—
damn, it's blinding.
I can't tell if I feel happy,
or utterly, heartbreakingly sad.
Mocca's song echoes in my ears.
I can't stop staring at you—
your eyes fixed on the screen of your laptop,
oblivious to how I'm quietly drowning in you.
The view outside the train window—busy and fleeting—
fails to steal my eyes from you.
Today is the day.
The day I've been longing for,
praying for,
dreaming about.
The day I begged for with every reason I could find,
with tears that refused to stop trailing down my face.
I didn't ask for a label.
I didn't ask for promises or declarations.
I only wanted one thing—
you.
With me.
That was all.
A few days ago, you came to my apartment.
After all your overthinking,
you came.
You wrapped your arms around me in silence,
and whispered that you'd always be here.
And in that moment, I thought—
no one could be happier than me.
The butterflies attacked again,
violently and beautifully,
whenever I was near you.
I was sure—this was right.
I'd never be alone again.
And if this gratitude doesn't last,
I don't care.
Right now, I have you. That's enough.
It's been over an hour on this train.
In another hour and a half,
we'll arrive at our first stop: London.
Before we head to Cambridge to see Ujo,
I asked you—no, pleaded with you—
to stop by London first.
Two months in the UK,
and I've never really taken a true holiday.
Now, by some miracle, you've taken leave from work too—
not for long, of course,
because you're saving the rest for your dream trip across Western Europe.
And me?
I skipped a few classes,
broke a few silent rules,
just to be with you.
Because even if it's brief,
I want this.
You couldn't leave your work completely,
so your laptop came along.
Still, we found a way to make time ours.
You stroked my hair sometimes,
asked if I was bored.
Little gestures, but my heart wouldn't stop racing.
And then—London.
This city welcomed us with a gentle drizzle,
like a shy smile.
We stopped at a small café—
coffee, sandwiches, warmth.
You finished your work on the train.
Three whole hours bent over your laptop.
Now, for a little while at least,
London was ours.
I'd planned a few places I wanted to see,
and you—familiar as you were with this city—
let me lead,
smiling at my childlike excitement,
becoming my tour guide.
"Thanks," I said softly,
eyes meeting yours, warm and tender.
You looked puzzled,
and I responded with a mysterious smile,
sipping my cappuccino slowly.
You ruffled my hair, teasingly.
We were mid-conversation when your gaze shifted.
Two men had been watching us—
sitting just beside our table.
Without warning,
you slid beside me,
fixed my hair gently,
then kissed me.
Long enough for time to stop.
Long enough to silence the world.
Thousands of butterflies erupted in my belly,
mingling with the warmth of caffeine and your lips.
When you sat back,
the two men had turned away,
disinterested now,
dismissed without a single word.
It was your silent way of saying—
"She's mine."
Or maybe,
"I'm hers."
And I smiled.
Coming here, just us two—
was the right decision.
Two years in this country had taught you how to spot danger.
You knew when a man was about to approach.
You always knew what to do.
The way you protected us—
it made my heart ache and swell all at once.
We spent the day wandering through London.
When the rain stopped,
you led me past the Elizabeth Tower,
sharing stories,
pointing out places.
And when the sun began to sink,
you took my hand and said,
"Let's ride the London Eye."
You told me the first time you came here,
you were trying to forget.
Your life had been falling apart.
But the view from the top—
the glowing city lights—
soothed something in you.
Hypnotized you.
And now, I understood.
From above,
the city looked like a galaxy spilled across the earth.
There was peace here—
especially with you beside me.
I held you tightly,
whispered words of love,
kissed your cheek softly.
This—this was what forever should feel like.
We'd only been together two weeks.
And it was already hard.
You worked by day,
I went to class.
At night, you were often with him—
Ruben.
For work.
For other things.
Was I jealous?
Of course.
Even sharing lunch with you was a rare occasion.
But I had no right to complain.
This was my choice.
I chose you—this way.
So, I treasured days like today,
when the world faded and only we remained.
When I could pretend you were mine, completely.
Even if tomorrow, I'd have to go back to pretending I was no one.
Just a friend.
Just a forgotten piece from your past,
briefly revisited by time.
That night, you'd booked us a room.
Not in a hotel—
but a cozy little guesthouse you'd stayed in before.
When we walked in,
the receptionist lit up.
An old friend.
"Where's Ruben?" he asked.
The name burned in my ears.
My smile cracked.
You said softly,
"Not with Ruben this time.
Just me and her."
You glanced at me,
reading my face instantly.
In the room,
I pulled away,
hurt.
"Why here?" I asked.
"I didn't book it. Ruben did.
He called Steve the moment I told him I was going on this trip.
I couldn't say no."
You looked ashamed.
I said nothing.
Showered.
Lay in bed.
You tried to approach me,
but I turned away.
Still, you didn't give up.
Your fingers traced my skin—
light, ticklish.
I laughed despite myself.
You grinned.
"Still mad?"
you asked,
now fixing my hair,
showering me with kisses.
The scent of your skin,
the warmth of your body—
all of it came rushing back.
The thing I missed every night.
"I love you, Dis,"
I whispered.
You kissed me softly.
And that night—
you were mine.
Only mine.
And I let myself believe
that maybe,
just maybe,
this feeling could last forever.