Alya thought hard, she really did.
Back to the glitters in her eyelids that streaked all the way down to her cheeks from July, that cup of coffee down the seventh street in that cafe, instant cupcakes baked at midnight, the cool marble floors from the vast mansion that became momentarily mellow when the fireplace was ablaze and all she could stare at was bright blue eyes, eyes that she’d known for sixteen years and wanted to know for a thousand more.
And her hands, perfectly manicured the way 7-year-old Alya said was too girly (she knew better now), soft and delicate and ones that carried the misconception of being frigid; perhaps untouchable. Ones that Alya knew were warm and slowly welcoming, a reluctant comfort seeker and a reluctant comforter. That was back in October, when she first held her hand when they strolled down the eighth street past that cafe.
To fall in love is apparently to fall suddenly and Alya agreed yet disagreed. Because when she thinks about it to herself on afternoons when she lays sideways down on her couch, her arm wrapped around the girl’s waist, her face melting in her blonde bundle of hair with each tiny golden strand that fell to her face like it was magnet, she thinks back to six-year-old Alya who first clashed with those blue eyes.
Six-year-old Alya who had her mom pick her up from pre-school, giving her a lecture about fighting others in school, let alone the daughter of the town mayor. Six-year-old Alya who, after her fair moments of silently grumbling to herself about how she was trying to defend her honor regarding who got to play on the swings first, turned to look at the bright skies above the car window that shone light on the fall leaves the way she liked it. Six-year old Alya, though she was definitely going to confront the same girl the next day, thought that girl’s eyes were like the skies just the way six-year-old Alya liked them; peeking through the shadows of high branches from the far distance when the fog mist would evaporate for the light to emerge ever so peacefully from the dark, greeting her each morning.
So it might’ve never been a sudden thing. But the part where she agreed it was?
That part was the sleepover.