50 days until I loved him - Prologue

26 July 2019

Cambridge, England

Heavy downpour

I heard a tapping on the window, and it became a pitter-patter. I peeped outside my French window to see a tar-black sky and large clouds moving around. I started scurrying around the living room, picking up newspapers and magazines from the floor uncertain as where to put them, tossed them behind the sofa. I rearranged the pillows several times, paced the floor, and after a few moments, plopped myself onto the sofa. Trying to get deviated, I took a deep breath. The doorbell rang. Of course, I knew who it was. I opened the door to see Ryan standing with a newspaper over

his head, protecting himself from a driving rain. His clothes were wet, and he was carrying his

large, grungy-looking gym bag.

‘No umbrella?’ I asked. He was such a loser, to go out on a cloudy evening in Cambridge without an umbrella.

‘Inside out. The wind. I dumped it, Al’, he said. ‘Al’, that’s what Ryan calls me. Before I introduce myself to you, let me get this loser a towel to wipe his hair before he floods our living room.

‘You’re soaking wet’, I said.

‘That’s what rain does’, he replied, as if it was hilarious.

‘Oh really! Stop being a jerk. I already had a bad day. Let me get you a towel or something’

‘If that isn’t too much’

‘Fifty pounds will do’

‘I meant, if it isn’t too much trouble’

‘What’s the alternative, dying from pneumonia?’

‘That’s contagious, save yourself and get me a towel’

I went inside to grab a towel from my closet and a mop from the kitchen to clean the wet mess he had created in our living room.

Now that we have some alone time, let me introduce myself to y’all. I’m Aleana Jones, a failing writer, trying to finish up my master’s in creative writing from Cambridge University. It might sound cool listening to a first-rated university name but believe me - it’s not. Most of the students are sick of their life that they start creating facebook page for university memes and feel good about themselves. Ryan Martin, that loser you saw before - my best friend, flatmate, pal – whatever, is one of those useless people - a meme creator and a failing finance student.  I just realised that we got past three-ninety-two words of nothing. Long story short – I just had a pathetic breakup and a terribly short deadline and warning from Lutterworth to get them a good story. I’m not even sure which one hurts me the most.

Ryan wiped his head and threw the towel on the sofa.

‘Al, should I make you a drink?’, he asked me. The loser knew me the best.

‘Yes. Oscar and I are not together’, I summarised my sad story. He handed me a shot of Captain.

‘Come on, Al. These stories are a walking stereotype to me. You have a breakup every now and then. You mostly visit the library cubicles to sit and look for next dates’

‘I’m sick of guys now. But I’m even more scared of being single’. Being single is scarier than Stephen King horror stories. I would literally find no inspiration to write new things from my life. Who would want to read about a lonely writer having mundane conversations with her boring best friend? Well, no offence, please continue reading, my beloved readers.

‘What did you write this time that he broke up with you?’, Ryan was always curious to know all my spicy content.

‘His sister broke up with her boyfriend and he faked his death to win her back. Isn’t it a worthy content for my blog?’

‘Better than last time, when you interviewed your boyfriend’s ex and wrote about their unhappy sex life’, Ryan started mocking me.

‘Now that I listen to this, I do feel bad. Should I just apologise to him and reconcile?’

‘Only if you’re ready to travel to Texas. You made that guy flee to the US, Al. Speaking of which, I cleared the preliminary interview for a position in Berkshire. I might flee to the states anytime to escape from your terrible cooking’

‘That’s some good news on the floor. When do you start if you get the job?’

‘In around 50 days’

‘I have a fifty-day deadline to submit a rough draft to Lutterworth. I don’t even have a good prologue, bruh’, I started ranting.

‘Chill, Al. Fifty days is a good time. Maybe you’d find the right guy to date and write stories about’, Ryan tried to encourage me.

Suddenly, I got a good idea to experiment on.

‘Ryan, why not we start dating for a while?’, I suggested.

‘You just called me ‘bruh’. And I bet you know that we have zero compatibility. You already know a lot about me to write stories. Dating me will not give you any new content, Al. You and I will never work’

‘Both of us have a fifty-day time period. You have been single for a while now. I have no time to find a new guy to date. Why not try the option in hand? After fifty days, let’s just part ways as friends. Nothing will change’.

Ryan left to his room without answering. Next morning, I woke up late and walked to the kitchen to make my morning tea. Surprisingly, Ryan was already up making tea for the both of us.

‘Am I gonna die of shock?’, I asked Ryan, who was awake two hours before his usual brunch time.

‘I got selected for a final interview. That’s a positive vibe. Let’s do this. Fifty days of dating you’ – he announced.

Given that you all read the title, I’m sure you know where this is going. That’s how the awful love story with Ryan began.