I know, I know. I have to update my other stories. But I wanted to get back into the feel of writing and write something simple. So here's this little diddy. Let me know if you want me to continue it. There's so many directions it can go in.
But yes, let me know your feedback in reviews! I'd love to know what you think!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. I wish I did because then PLL would make so much more sense.
In theory, they were never supposed to be right. That's what Aria told herself at her high school graduation. It took an hour for them to get to the 'M's and even longer for them to get to her last name. By the time they called her up, Aria had been quaking in her seat. Her walk was a little less graceful, her small a little less wide and incandescent than it should've been when receiving the piece of paper that cemented her freedom. Her eyes were a little too unsure as she surveyed the crowd and spotted him sitting in the back with a few other teachers.
Sometimes it takes everything in her not to cry. Over the course of her years in college, it took a little more analytical thinking and a little bit of self exploration for Aria to realize that it wasn't that they weren't right – they'd fallen in love at the wrong time.
Now, at the tender age of 21, Aria's changed. Her figure is a bit more filled out in ways that every adult grew into her. The tips of her hair were a bit redder. Her style never changed and she still wore feathers as earrings (only sometimes though). But her outlook on life is a bit less sunny. She's more cynical now if anything, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. There have been a few men, but none of them stick.
New York is definitely her kind of town. It's faced paced; it's about living on the edge. Aria never knows what's going to come around the corner, as she turns onto another block in her thick-heeled boots. Her apartment is small, but it costs her almost as much as a small house in Rosewood would. Visits to her hometown is far and few between – Aria doesn't like to dwell in memories of her past. Or at least that's what she likes to pretend.
Aria knows she's breaking all her rules tonight. She sits at her desk, nursing a second glass of red wine. It's rich and it makes her drowsy, which is what she needs most nights. As a new college graduate and paid intern at a publishing firm, she's used to late evenings of work. Tonight though, tonight has nothing to do with work whatsoever.
She's on Facebook, reading through her timeline. Aria's never been big on social networking or technology at all; she's got a reasonable explanation for it though after her turbulent teenage years and an anonymous stalker. From time to time she checks Facebook though, just to see how everyone is. Spencer is in law school and loving every minute of it. Hanna's in Paris, interning at one of their couture magazines. Emily's the swimming coach of a high school in Philadelphia. Aria keeps in contact with them, Spencer more so than the rest. But the fallout was eminent; it's just what happens after high school.
However, after her timeline troll, Aria types in a specific name into the search bar. It's a name she finds herself thinking about most nights, a name that pops into her dreams whilst accompany oceanic eyes. Ezra Fitz. He was her big love. He had been her everything. But without going into the gory details, things didn't work out. There were too many complications and not enough explanations.
Aria uses Ezra as a scale to rate the men in her life. It's more detrimental than positive, since she's always finding herself tossing them onto the sidewalk. She realizes this, but even after four years, he's what she wants. Too bad she has no idea what he's been up to or where he is.
It's the reason why she's going through his Facebook page at 11 'o' clock at night, finishing off a glass of wine. Apparently, he's in New York too and teaches at a private school on the Upper East Side. He's all the way across town then, seeing that Aria lives in Greenwich Village near her alma mater, NYU. His status posts seem relatively happy and very Ezra, which makes her smile. He talks about writing, about books he's reading. She remembers when she didn't need to learn about his newest favorite novel through social media. But what Aria finds the most satisfying about Ezra's Facebook page is that he's single.
And with that knowledge, she finds the resolve to shut down her laptop and curl up in bed.
The next morning, Aria finds herself with a slight headache from all the wine and bedhead. She rushes to get up and shower before putting on her makeup. It's a lot simpler than her high school days; just a brown eye shadow stick that she doubles as eyeliner and mascara and a bit of blush. She lets her hair curl naturally and tugs on a knit dress printed with sunflowers, a pair of black tights, and boots. Ten minutes later, Aria exits her apartment bundled up against the New York City rain with a cup of coffee in hand; she can't really afford Starbucks anymore.
As grimy as they might be, Aria's preferred transportation to get to work is the subway. For some reason, she likes to see the faces of different people. Most of the time, it gives her inspiration for her own writing. One day she saw a mother to be sitting across from her and hours later, she'd finished off a short story that had been sitting stale for weeks on her computer.
She boards the subway when it pulls up to the platform. Aria's not listening to the chatter that surrounds her that comes from the people yearning to get to work on time. Instead, her ears are plugged with her favorite morning playlist on 8tracks. It's gentle, but gets her pumped up enough to endure another day of making copies and getting expensive coffees that she can't so much as smell.
It's crowded and there's barely any room to sit. With a sigh, Aria grapples onto one of the poles in the middle of the car and holds on protectively to her bag to ensure that nobody steals it or its contents. With her music pulsing in her ears, she begins her daily round of people watching, observing the faces of every passenger.
There's a businessman checking his watch frantically. There's a woman holding tightly onto the hand of her five-year-old daughter. Another guy is bopping his head along to whatever is playing over his earphones. And there's a pair of oceanic blue eyes that seem to widen when Aria's own catch their gaze.
Her heart almost stops in her chest. She knows those eyes. They're the eyes that she used to wake up to in the morning. They're the eyes that glanced at her over a desk. They're the eyes that never gave her a look without so much as an ounce of love in them. And they're the eyes that are looking directly at her now.
All of the sudden, Aria is more alert. The music playing in her ears is tuned out as she lets her eyes rove over the man, double-checking that he is for sure the person she thinks he is. He's tall and lanky, but with a sufficient amount of muscle and his hair is still just as messy, albeit a little longer and a lot curlier. He's wearing that same boyish smile as she continues to look at him.
"Ezra," Aria breathes and it's when she realizes that in order to get over to him, she has to push through hoards of passengers.
But fighting against the crowd is something she's willing to do. Perhaps they'd met at the wrong time, but they were fated to meet at another one much more suitable down the road.