Chapter 1: The Girl Whose Hair Was Always on Fire

If you did not read Eleanor and Park, GO AND READ IT NOW. GO.

But read this even if you didn't read the book. It will make you curious as to what happened before the events in my fanfic. (translation: READ THE BOOK)

He sat up. He smiled. Something heavy and winged took off from his chest. Eleanor hadn't written him a letter, it was a post card.

Just three words long.

Park scanned the postcard, making sure he read it right. He was not surprised by the letter, it was so very her. It was just too late now, he convinced himself. It would have been better if she replied to him when he was writing her the daily letters. What happened now? What changed?

He wasn't going to go back to her, he thought resolutely. He didn't want to relive the happy memories - all the repressed ones. He didn't want to feel her, smell her, see her, only to lose her. Again.

He did wish that she showed up at prom and took him by surprise. But that was not Eleanor. She didn't do dramatic reveals or happily ever afters.

Park stretched and got out of his bed. Ignoring the sudden hunger gripping him that was twisting his stomach with the force of a hurricane, he stumbled and fell on his way to grab his clothes. He landed on his behind. The ache in his bum wiped away any sleepiness he had left in him.

He didn't think he'd ever see Cat again. Not date-see her but physically see her. She'd just avoid everyone again, enclosing herself in her own private shell. He still didn't get how she plucked up the courage to ask him. But it doesn't matter. He didn't find that mysterious or interesting, like Eleanor. She wasn't Eleanor.

Eleanor.

She was a mixture of contrasts. She wanted to blend in, yet she stood out the most. She was the most judged, had a terrible home life but she never let it get to her. She remained kind and warm-hearted. But most of all, she was so... alive.

Placing her postcard underneath his pillow, he ambled out of his bedroom, feeling happy for the first time in a year.

He woke up alone. He dreamt of her. He always dreamt of her when he was alone. He never really got her face right but he visualized a girl who was exceptionally pale with curly ringlets of hair. Like a long lost cousin of the Weasleys.

He was still such a dork.

He heard her voice now and again until time stole that from his memory as well. He remembered feeling happy in his dream. Maybe that's why he thinks of her when he's alone.

A world-famous makeup artist. Married and divorced; marriage lasted 10 years. Famous and good-looking comes with a prize, your life is an open book for everyone to judge on. As his publicist told him, the media gobbled up every juicy bit of information they could get. Fib or truth. And they did.

Oh god they did.

They swallowed up everything the Mistake fed them, a pack of rabid dogs on a thick juicy steak. She tweaked every fact, added a little spice, a little salt and BAM! A complete and utter lie. The plus side was it skyrocketed his career since his daily appearance in the news ensured that people never forgot him. He was grateful no one bought her lies. He became the unsuspecting victim while she was the evil player. He was Jennifer Aniston and the Mistake was Angelina Jolie, he admitted, hating the comparison by the minute. He just calls her the Mistake since that day. Saying her name was just a terrible waste of time.

Drowning in his thoughts, he dressed quickly and checked the time. 5 am.

Groaning, he flopped back to try to go back to sleep. But sleep had walked out the door since his first Eleanor-thought.

Climbing out of his bed, he felt his head pound with the sudden blood rush. Stabilizing himself, he brushed his teeth, put on his running shoes and took off into the black, eerie night, trying to escape his problems for now.

Eleanor

She was exhausted. After working an 11 hour shift at the hospital, her eyes were droopy and her body demanded sleep. Refusing to give in, she drove as fast as she could to her shabby house that was some 10 miles away. The people at work offered a place at the residence attached to the hospital. But she wanted to be independent, unobligated to do anything.

Free.

After some reckless driving, almost hitting three cars, she turned off the engine and gazed at her front door. But just before she could get out, exhaustion overcame her as she dropped unconscious.

Park

He ran for ten minutes, turning corners of the dingy roads of Minnesota. Out of breath, he decided to stop for a while. As he slowly looked up, hunched over, palms on his knees, he saw the sun rising over the long row of houses. He watched mesmerized, truly admiring nature for the longest time. There were few cars on the street, but it looked quite deserted. As he gazed at the brilliant shade of orange, purple and yellow, he knew he was witnessing something that was meant only for his eyes.

Suddenly, pulling him out of the moment, a car door opened.

A flame climbed out of the car, looking completely out of it. Her hair was shining a million shades of red and orange, like there was a mini-sun beneath the fiery bush. He gazed enraptured. Who was she? As the girl turned around to walk past her car to the front door, he recognized.

Just like he did when he first held her hand. The girl whose hair was always on fire. He saw her again after what felt like a long time.

And it was.

He saw her again after 20 years.

Note: Park originally describes Eleanor's hair as resembling Merida's, but a very keen reader 'Flicker' pointed out that Park couldn't know Merida. Here's why:

Eleanor and Park = 1986
20 years later = 2006
Brave = 2012

Thank you for letting me know! I changed it.

Note: I met Rainbow Rowell and she said she might work on an Eleanor and Park sequel. If she did, it'd be set in their late 30s. (no kidding) *insert freak out*
She read this fanfiction. I am sure of it.
Hee hee.

You came, you read, now you review!