Chapter 3
3
Nataly
Okay, this is going to sound ridiculously silly and almost unbelievable. But I’m a visual person. My brain processes things visually, so when you say “January 16th to the 18th,” I automatically see a little dash in between: January 16th–18th. Naturally, the 17th disappears into the void. And that is my actual excuse for missing my mom’s birthday to go to Dublin with my friends. Honestly, it’s not even an excuse—it’s the truth.
My mind floats back to our conversation on the phone about it.
“Mom, I’m so sorry I scheduled this trip over your birthday. It didn’t even click in my mind!” I groaned, facepalming as the realization hit.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t worry. I don’t like a big fuss about my birthday anyway,” she said, all warmth and grace like always.
Yet that only made the guilt worse—like it’s unpacked a suitcase in the back of my mind and settled in with snacks. I promise myself I’ll visit her soon in Bournemouth. Maybe I’ll bring flowers. Or chocolate. Or a puppy. (Would dad go for a puppy?)
But this is my first-ever mini weekend trip with friends. The extent of my solo travel so far has been going back to America, and even that was a whole production trying to get my dad to agree to it. Dad’s the overprotective type. He basically wrapped me in cotton wool growing up and then bubble-wrapped me for good measure. No sleepovers, no parties, no late nights. I wasn’t allowed to even dream of breaking the rules. And I never wanted to—not really. My inner debate team always talked me out of it. The ‘avoid unnecessary pain’ argument won by a landslide—because I knew it would lead to arguments and I wasn’t up for that. And I always listened to the debate team.
But now I’m living in London for university and finally making my own decisions! Yippee! (Read: cue my anxiety). Because when you grow up without many chances to mess up and learn from it, you end up terrified of making the wrong call. So accidentally missing my mom’s birthday due to a brain-visual-scheduling error? Ramps up the guilt just a bit. But I’m excited. This trip feels like the start of some long-awaited adventure.
There are about eight of us on this trip, all staying at the same hotel. Music drifts through the air—laughter, chatter, the occasional shout from someone outside. The air smells like rain and something warm and bakery-like I can’t quite place. And the cobblestones? They’re actively trying to kill me. My clumsy self can’t seem to put one foot in front of the other without occasionally tripping over something.
Tonight’s plan is to wander around, grab dinner, and take in the scenery. We’ll explore properly tomorrow. Right now, we’re all getting ready in our rooms.
The group chat is already chaotic.
Joy: WHERE ARE WE GOING?
Joel: Temple Bar. Obviously.
Carlos: We’re literally in Dublin. Did you think we wouldn’t go to Temple Bar?
Joy: We HAVE to take cute pics!!
Me: I volunteer as tribute for photo duty!
Liam: I’m leading the way. Please try to keep up.
Joy: No one asked you to lead.
Liam: I was born to lead.
Someone knocks on the hotel room door and shouts, “Dublin awaits!”
I laugh, about to tuck my phone in my pocket when my phone buzzes again—this time, it’s from my mom.
Mom: Hope you’re having fun, sweetie! Can’t wait to hear about your trip.
Ugh. I’ve got a guilt suitcase I’ll be lugging around. I type out a very enthusiastic reply (lots of exclamation points and emojis) and promise to call her tomorrow. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m a terrible daughter.
Joy grins. “You’ve got that overthinking face on again.”
“Do I?” I ask, slipping on my shoes.
She smirks. “Yup. You thinking about your mom?”
“Maybe,” I mumble, pulling my coat on.
“Your mom is the sweetest person ever, Nat. She’ll forgive you.”
I sigh. “I know. I just wish I’d remembered. She deserves the world.”
“She does. She really is an angel wrapped in human clothing. But, since you’re here, let’s turn that frown upside down and hit the town!”
I shake off the guilt and get my stuff ready to go downstairs. “You ready?”
“Go on down. I’ll catch up in five,” she says, rifling through her bag.
I head towards the lobby.
The rom-com lover in me is particularly excited to visit Temple Bar. I honestly haven’t researched Dublin too much. I’m kind of relying on my friends (and my boyfriend) to set the agenda. But I did hear one thing: Leap Year was filmed there, and I am not missing my chance to see any locations I can. It’s one of the best rom-coms out there, and if there’s even the tiniest chance of my own movie moment… well, I’m not opposed.
Oh, and yes, in case you missed my very casual mention, Joel is officially my boyfriend now. We’ve sort of gone public, but it’s not like we’ve made any big announcements or blasted it all over social media. We’re also not big on PDA or even taking pictures together. And… am I still having second thoughts? Yes. Am I acknowledging those thoughts? Absolutely not. We’re sweeping allllll of those messy feelings under the rug and pretending I have Marvel-level superpowers that have made the rug (and everything beneath it) completely invisible. Problem solved.
Joel walks up, offering me a small smile. His hand grazes mine—then pulls away, not holding it. Not like someone eager to be next to me.
“Where are we going?” I ask Joel.
“Somewhere in the centre,” he says, eyes moving to his phone. “Everybody’s coming down now.”
“You look nice, by the way,” he says, casual like he’s commenting on the weather.
“Oh, thank you,” I reply with a small smile. It was nice of him to say.
I glance out the lobby window just as a guy outside pulls a girl into his arms, peppering her neck with kisses as she laughs like he’s the funniest person alive. My chest tightens. I’m a sucker for PDA—not the obnoxious kind, but the kind where the guy just has to touch you, even if it’s just your hand. Just to be near you.
Joel and I aren’t really into PDA—not even hand-holding, which I am weirdly okay with at the moment. Maybe I’m convincing myself this is enough. But a part of me is still waiting to be wanted like that.
“You know, the last time I watched a match in Ireland, I was twelve,” Joel says suddenly, looking up from his phone. “We were here for a family reunion, and my cousin tried to teach me how to do an Irish jig after we scored. I nearly broke a table in the process.”
I chuckle. Okay, that was kind of cute.
Joy catches up to me in the lobby, linking arms with a dramatic sigh. “Ugh, this weather is doing nothing for my hair. But this city? Obsessed.”
“I’m so excited to see more.” I grin.
Joel falls into conversation with the guys about football the second we hit the restaurant. Joy and I sit toward the edge of the table, and after about five minutes of football talk I can’t follow, she leans in.
“Okay,” she whispers. “On a scale of one to ‘he’s definitely my future husband,’ how are we feeling about Joel right now?”
I laugh, a little nervously. “Somewhere around… ‘he’s nice and kind of confusing.’”
Joy raises an eyebrow. “Still not giving you butterflies?”
“Nope. Maybe caterpillars. Very sleepy ones.”
She nudges me. “So why are we entertaining the idea of Prince Caterpillar?”
I glance over at Joel. Still mid-debate about the Premier League. “Because he’s different to the guys I dated before. And he makes me laugh, too. That’s always a big thing in my book. He’s witty. Like maybe sparks are a luxury, and this is the part where I act like a grown-up and choose a guy who cares about what I care about.”
Joy pauses, then smiles softly. “Okay, but remind me—aren’t you the girl who cried over rom-coms with your mom and dreamed of the kind of guy who’d fly across the world to prove he loves you?”
“I also used to think glitter lip gloss was a good idea,” I mutter.
“And now?” she asks.
“I still own two,” I admit as I roll my eyes.
She grins. “Then maybe don’t throw away the whole spark thing just yet.”
I laugh again, and for a moment, the weird ache in my chest lifts.
I don’t really know what I’m waiting for with Joel. But it has to be more than this.
It’s January 17th. The day that did not exist in my mind calendar. And while I did forget my mom’s birthday, I at least remembered to call her before I officially lose my title as Daughter of the Year. Facepalm.
We’re wandering the streets of Dublin, and I’m loving seeing the cute spots. The beautiful stairways, the colorful doors.
But then we reach the Ha’penny Bridge, and my book-loving heart does a little leap.
“Okay, did you ever read How to Fall in Love ?” I ask Joy, tilting my head as we pause a short distance away from it.
She shrugs. “Yeah, I remember it. My favorite was P.S. I Love You , but it was still pretty good.”
“Agreed. But THIS—” I gesture dramatically, “—is the bridge.”
Joy lifts an eyebrow. “This is it?”
I nod, staring at it with a mix of awe and… confusion.
“In my head it was this dramatic, towering thing. Something like Tower Bridge. But in real life? Kinda looks like you could just jump off and swim away.”
Joy sighs. “It’s like you read my mind. I wish we could visit some P.S. I Love You spots too.”
“Same. Maybe next time we’ll have more time. But!” I shoot a finger into the air. “Temple Bar is up next. I heard Leap Year might’ve been filmed there?”
“Ooh! Fact check later. Enjoy potential film-location vibes now.” She links her arm through mine with a grin.
The wind whips at our faces, hair flying in every direction. It’s freezing—not ideal for sightseeing—but I’m still buzzing. I’ve lived so much of life through books and movies, and now that I finally get a taste of adventure? I’m not wasting it.
Next stop: Temple Bar.
I’m not really a bar girl. I don’t drink much—the lack of sugar in alcohol to drown out the bitter taste is a heinous crime and staying in control of myself is pretty high on my priority list. Plus, I’m a talker. An oversharer, even. Silence makes me deeply uncomfortable, and I will fill it with the most useless details until I’ve dug myself into an inescapable hole. And bars? Loud. Not exactly conducive to conversation. Also: what are you supposed to do with your hands if you’re not holding a drink? It’s a mystery.
But Temple Bar is different. It’s not your average pub. It’s iconic . Live Irish music, world-renowned atmosphere, quirky interiors... I’m in.
By the time we get there, it’s late. It’s exactly what I pictured an Irish pub would be like. Dim lighting and dark wood and that unmistakable hum of people having a good time.
Inside, it’s packed. The air smells like beer and something fried, and the walls are covered in old pictures and random memorabilia, a mix of cozy and chaotic. There’s a live band crammed into one corner, playing this upbeat Irish folk song, and people are stomping and clapping along like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The energy’s infectious, and for a second, I feel it—that little spark of adventure I’ve been hoping for.
“THIS makes me feel like I’m in Ireland!” I say to Joy and Joel, raising my voice over the music as we weave through the crowd toward the bar.
“The music?” Joel asks as he grins my way .
Joy’s eyes are wide, her grin matching mine. “The music! The vibe! I love it.”
Joel chuckles. “That’s trad music for you. Big hit with the tourists.”
“Well, color me a tourist, ‘cause I’m fully into these Irish vibes.” I laugh, clapping to the beat.
I’m bundled in one of my dad’s old sweaters (which is, for the record, very cute), my hair’s a bit of a mess, and I’m still half-frozen from the walk—but this? This feels like something out of a movie. The music, the energy, the anticipation buzzing in the air.
We make it to the back where the rest of the group is gathered, waiting to grab drinks.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick,” I say, turning to Joel and Joy. “Save me a spot?”
They nod, and I slip away, weaving back through the crowd. I find the stairs and head down into the basement bathroom.
“Ugh, what is this tangled mop of a mess underneath?” I mutter at the mirror. My hair’s doing that thing again—a little messy on top, but full-blown chaos underneath. I smooth out what I can, wash my hands, and take a deep breath.
I start back up the stairs.
And that’s when the most unexpected, perfectly-timed coincidence happens.