I'm His Lover

Friday evening at 7:00. I'm in my Advanced Calculus class, physically present but mentally drifting. Since I've already grasped the material, I let my mind wander as I doodle in my sketchbook. I start daydreaming about the upcoming summer. My plan is to backpack across Europe, meet new people, and perhaps find romance. I also contemplate my future at school. My dad mentioned that the small business he'll be passing down to me will soon be under my management. I'll inherit it when I turn 21, and I'm currently just shy of 18. It's funny how I brought up "The Sound of Music" movie. In less than two weeks, I'll be turning 18, coinciding with my high school graduation. Quite fitting, isn't it? "Ms. Romero, Ms. Romero. Ms. Romero!" Mr. Martian's urgent voice pulls me from my thoughts, even raising towards the end. Quickly, I close my sketchbook and look up at him. "Yes?" I'm not sure what this is about, but I'm about to find out. "What did you learn?" He asks with urgency. Fortunately,

After a quiet pause, Mark brings up another aspect. "What else does it say in here?" He skims through the pages and inquires further. I join him in reading. "They talk about weekly dates, going out formally every couple of months, and even planning for a baby in five years?" I blurt out, my face showing both surprise and annoyance. "Do they seriously expect us to stick to such a rigid schedule for having kids? Shouldn't that be a decision we make together? I mean, I do want to have children someday, and I'm not ancient, but turning it into a requirement makes it seem like a chore. And I'm not a fan of chores." John jumps in, saying, "Well, it seems quite reasonable. It's not too demanding," seemingly relieved that we're not arguing about more fundamental aspects, like the marriage itself. I continue reading. "They're not asking for excessive public displays of affection," I add, scanning the document further. "We're supposed to get to know each other's families and friends, and they

He approaches the counter, and I still haven't looked up. "So, what can I do to help? Earrings or a necklace with diamonds?" he inquires. "No, my girlfriend and I are here to pick out an engagement ring for her," Mark responds. He's quite adept at making up stories. Sometimes, I even find myself briefly believing him. When I finally glance up, I see the familiar face. "Richie?" I inquire. "Well, if it isn't Savi," he replies. Richie's real name is Nick, but I've always called him Richie. It might seem a bit confusing. Richie was like a mentor to me during my freshman year in high school. When I was a freshman, Richie and I were paired up. He guided me on how to interact with teachers and showed me where my classes were. In a way, he was like a guardian angel watching over me. You might still be wondering why we call each other by different names. I don't remember much about how it started, but I do recall that he once asked me for my middle name and the name of my street. I told h

I suddenly wake up from a small nightmare due to some turbulence, and Mark notices. He takes a seat and checks on me. "Are you alright?" Mark asks, looking concerned. "Yeah, I'm okay," I respond, even though I'm not entirely fine. I don't want to encounter her again because of what Mark told me about his mom. It's been bothering me. "Would you like something to drink?" Mark inquires to make sure I'm okay. "Sure, just water," I request. Someone hands me a glass of water a few seconds later, and I thank them. "Are you feeling nervous?" Mark asks, not making eye contact. "Well, kind of... Alright, quite a bit," I admit, secretly enjoying how he looks when I stare at him. He finally looks at me and asks, "Are you checking me out?" This is unusual for him. I start to blush. "Anyway, can't I admire the man who's going to be my husband?" He chuckles. "Are you going to use that excuse every time I tease you?" "No," I pause, and he thinks he's won the banter as he starts to walk away

While pacing around our room, I comment, "That was..." Mark interjects with a quip, "Weird? Unexpected? Revealing?" "Not quite," I respond, gazing at him with a serious expression. He raises his hands playfully in defense. "What's your take?" I stop staring once I've asked the question. Some might find it impolite and bothersome to be told, "Try on the clothes. Your sisters are here. Begin getting to know your mom in a new way. Do whatever you like." But it didn't feel that way to me. It was more like, "Don't let anyone dictate your actions. Follow your instincts." At least, that's how I interpreted it. Now, I'm not entirely sure which perspective is better. "Okay, but how should I approach it?" I head over to the bed and lie down beside him. He rises to go to the bathroom. "I'm not entirely sure. You'll figure it out. Trust your instincts." "It's almost nighttime. If you're still feeling anxious when you wake up, we can talk again," he says with a smile before disappearing into t