Chapter 8
8
Nathan
We’ve only just parted ways. But 15 minutes later, while I’m on the tube, I receive a Facebook message from her.
Nataly: Okay so. This is Divergent.
Link pops up.
Nataly: And this is Insurgent.
Another link.
Nataly: You NEED to watch these. They’re the bomb dot com.
I actually laugh. I can almost hear her voice in her words, the way she’d light up when she talks about something she loves. I sit back into the seat I’m on, and a grin slowly takes over my face. I knew that if she messaged me, it would be a green light to get to know her. Game on. It’s the fact that she’s reaching out. That we’re still connected, even though the night is winding down.
Seeing her again, and the fact she was so easy to talk to… only made me want more. I got a taste of what it’s like to know her, and I want more. I know what I want. And getting to know Nataly, even just starting as friends, sounds like a good place to start. I have no problem sharing my intentions, but I don’t want to rush into them. Let’s get to know each other first and then go from there.
Me: I watch a lot of movies sometimes. What do you love about it so much? Also, you definitely got home before I did.
It takes less than a minute for her reply.
Nataly: That’s a good question. Well the story line is just different from all the others and interesting, the romance is great, action's great, actors are great, overall it's just pretty awesome.
She adds emojis. Something about that makes me smirk. She texts like she talks—full of energy.
Nataly: Also, Canada Water happens to be 15 minutes from where I live.
Interesting.
Me: That’s a good reason. So this is your favourite movie of all time? And your favourite hobby is watching movies?
We keep talking, messages bouncing back and forth, her enthusiasm pouring through even over text. She tells me about her unlimited cinema card like it’s a prized possession. I tell her she sounds like she practically lives there. She doesn’t deny it .
The conversation is easy. But there’s something else. Something underneath it.
It’s getting close to midnight now. Normally, I’d be asleep by now. But sleep is the furthest thing from my mind.
I hesitate for a second before typing out my next message.
Me: What’s your number? Maybe I’ll give you a call if I’m ever out East.
It’s not the smoothest line in the world, but it does the job.
Three dots appear. Typing.
Then her reply pops up.
Her number appears.
I save it, my finger hovering over the screen for a second longer than necessary.
Then I lean my head back, exhaling.
I should sleep. But my mind is still replaying her smile, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s excited, the way she talks with her hands.
What will tomorrow bring?
I don’t know yet. But something tells me, I’m just beginning to figure it out.
Nataly
Nathan asked me for my number. He was so subtle. Okay, maybe subtle isn’t the right word.
He was smooth .
He asked if he could have my number if he ‘was ever over East’ (London, of course). It was one of those moments where I felt my brain short-circuit just a little, because there was this tiny flicker of… something. A shift in the air. A nearly imperceptible pause in my heartbeat. But I told myself it was just friendliness. A perfectly normal, casual, no-big-deal flicker .
As we were walking toward the bus that night, he mentioned where he lived.
“I live in West Kensington. It’s a great spot,” he said, shrugging.
“ Kensington? You live in Kensington ?” I said, eyes wide. “Wow, fancy.”
He laughed. “My company pays for it. It’s a great spot.”
“A great spot?” I laughed. “I’d have to sell a kidney to live there.”
“They’re based out of Northern Ireland,” he added, smiling. “It just worked out.”
Kensington is, you know, nice . As in, the kind of nice where I imagine people wear expensive house slippers and casually own property in France.
I joked that East London is where it’s at (translation: it’s where my student budget has sentenced me). We’re on completely opposite sides of the city, but that doesn’t really matter—not in London. It takes at least 30 minutes to get anywhere . Especially if you’re tucked into East London on the DLR line like I am. My campus is in Stratford, so I live about 15–20 minutes away. Convenient for uni. Not so convenient for, well… everything else.
Of course, I work on the opposite end of London. At Hollister White City. And yes, I’m fully aware that’s a logistical nightmare.
There’s a Hollister in Stratford, but I knew the managers in the Hollister White City, and I didn’t want to risk not getting a job so I just asked them to transfer me without interviewing. That was a bad idea because they ended up putting me in the stock room. I loved my job at Hollister being on the shop floor. Talking to people is just such an energy booster for me. My mouth doesn't get nearly enough airtime in the stock room. Some days, I’m this close to talking to the cardboard boxes just to stay sane. I’m considering interviewing at Hollister Regent Street.
So, apparently, I find myself in West London often. Weekly, even. Not that that matters anyway. But ever since our team night, Nathan has found subtle reasons to message me. Okay, maybe they’re not actual reasons , but he definitely has been messaging me almost on the daily. And I can’t lie—I look forward to those messages. But again, we’re friends, so that’s okay. Right? Right.
Joel called me from California the other night. A little tipsy. A little apologetic.
“Hey, Nat. It’s soooo good to see you,” he laughed, eyes just slightly glassy.
“Hey. What have you been up to?” I asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Just been out with some of the guys,” he said, then hesitated. I saw a flicker of guilt cross his face. “Sorry things have been weird.”
“What’s going on?” I tilted my head.
He sighed. “I’ve been feeling a bit guilty about something.”
Nope. Good conversations never start like that.
“I was out with some of the guys… and we ended up at a club that wasn’t exactly PG.”
“Oh,” I managed to squeak.
“Nothing happened,” he rushed to add. “But I thought I’d let you know.”
I shrugged it off. At least outwardly. But inside? That cracked open the rug I’ve been neatly tucking my feelings under. Honestly, ever since team night, everything I’ve been avoiding has been inching back into view. Still… I don’t know what to do with all of it. I hate conflict. And the thought of hurting anyone makes me physically sick. Plus, I’m not even sure I have feelings for Nathan. He’s just a friend. And there was a spark. That’s all.
Joel’s call helped, in a way. Being remembered takes the edge off the ache. But then the ache came back—heavier, somehow. Because being remembered isn’t the same as being chosen. And I’m not sure I feel chosen anymore. The more I think about him willingly going to a club like that—a place that objectifies women—the more unsettled I feel. I appreciated his honesty, I really did. But the truth is that it did nothing to keep me feeling secure. Instead, I felt small .
And suddenly, things felt off again.
Why would he be okay with that? That makes me so skeptical. I don’t know how I feel about that.
Sounds like it’s time I shove it back under the rug.
Now, Nathan has just messaged asking about our Young Adults night at church. I did a solo singing performance, and the theme was love. I was all dolled up, with a pink maxi dress fit for a bridesmaid, and even my microphone stand was covered in fake flowers. It was very “Taylor Swift meets garden party,” and honestly, I loved it. I went through the performance with a friend, Chelsea, who was also visually directing the performance for a good few hours.
I sing on Sundays, but doing a solo performance has always freaked me out. My mouth goes dry like it’s stuffed with cotton, then decides to overcorrect and drown me in extra saliva. I know, gross. The anxiety over singing in front of people by myself is front and center even though I want to love it a lot. I’m also terrified I’m randomly going to burp into the microphone or choke. GAH. That’s probably been done before too so what if I’m next?! Oh no. BURPING AND CHOKING TOGETHER. I can see the headlines now: Girl Burps Through Emotional Love Song. Ugh.
So, I was a little terrified but it was really helpful that Chelsea was able to run through it with me.
After the performance, she greeted me backstage with a big grin and a water bottle.
“You crushed it.”
“I actually feel pretty good about that, thanks to you! All of your help made me feel a lot more confident about a solo. Also, no burping!” I announced, raising my hands in victory. “And only a respectable amount of salivating,” I added, waggling my brows.
“Hey, progress!” she said, laughing. She gave me a quick squeeze. “You looked beautiful up there. And you sounded even better.”
Looking over the video someone took for me, I feel surprisingly happy with it. I actually look confident. I kind of want to do a little curtsy.
Nathan is asking me to send over this video to him so he can see. My internet is taking forever to send it, and we somehow end up on me and my occasional jokey phrases. I like to keep things fun (or perhaps cheesy, but I don’t care: I’m living in the cheese wheel of life). I embrace the cheese.
But then the video finally sends.
Nathan: Yes! You were absolutely born for that. I love it
My cheeks warm at the phrase and it’s like a warm blanket is starting to settle over me.
Me: Thank you, that means a lot. I just need to stop getting anxious on stage.
Nathan: That’s actually really amazing. I didn’t realize you were that good. I really like the body language on stage too, your hand movements are good. It’s an all-round performance. I want to listen on repeat.
I’m warm cookie dough—soft, sweet, and melting into a puddle on the baking sheet. Something’s cooking inside me, and I don’t know what to do with it.
What is this feeling?
Before I can analyze it, Nathan sends another text.
Nathan: I’m getting up early tomorrow for work, so since it’s midnight I’m going to say goodnight now. I’m going to be grumpy tomorrow.
My fingers hover over the keyboard for a second longer than necessary.
Me: Goodnight, grumpy Nathan.
And just for fun I add a little saluting emoji.
He replies with a laughing face and a simple: Goodnight.
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly.
Because something is shifting. The rug I keep trying to smooth over is getting more tangled by the second.
And maybe, just maybe, I’m not ready for what’s about to come next.