IT'S A QUINNLY GAME

EMILY's POV

I still have vivid images of her at our favorite spot at the library….

I found her at my favorite section, Science—Genetics to be specific. She found her way to my spot from her favorite section, Literature—History to be exact.

I can't recall anything significant that happened during that day except for one thing…. Quinn. She happened.

She sat across me, as tranquil as the water, as calm as the summer wind. I've never seen her as still as she is now yet as fragile as a glass. She welcomed me with the words, "one year", followed by an elusive smile.

Quinn knew it would break my heart to hear those two words but she looked at me, with her deep blue eyes, as if telling me that I have to hear her… That I have to listen to her. She said those words with no hint of hesitation, no tinge of confusion, just plain conviction.

"One year," I repeated—slowly, surely.

How can words be as powerful as those two words? How can it have so much weight on one's heart when there never was a clear indication of where it was rooted?

I wanted to move closer to her. I wanted to drown in her smell again. I wanted to hold her hand, feel its warmth, feel her pulse rate. I wanted to feel like I'm inside her bubble. I wanted to feel like everything is just a dream because I'm with her.

I wanted to know if there's anyway I can convince her that a lot of things can happen in one year. I can still be the same Emily that she knew. Or maybe I can be a different Emily for her. Whichever Emily she wants me to be, I will be. If that's the only way I can keep her.

If one year were all I have, then I'd need at least 518,400 minutes or 365 days worth of chances. I just need her to give me a chance. Maybe one chance would be more than enough. No, maybe a year-worth of proving to her that we're still worth a shot would be enough.

Ah, that's it. I just need her to realize that there can still be a Quinn and an Emily.

Good luck, Em.

QUINN's POV

Emily looked at me with her bewildered hazel brown eyes…

I can look at those eyes… Always. And every time I do, I always find myself drowning from 'em, not wanting to be saved, not wanting to find my way out. It's like I'm under a spell whenever she looks at me. There's no entrance, no exit to her soulful eyes… Just this imaginary bubble keeping us together.

There, there… I can see a small, timid smile curving on her beautiful lips… Almost.

"One year," I said.

These were the first two words that came out of my mouth the moment she stood before me.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should've said "Hey." That's more appropriate, isn't it? Or maybe "Hello. How are you?" That sounds more normal

Ah, there she goes again. Her hands are fiddling again inside her jacket's pockets. I know she's doing it no matter how hard she tries to hide her hands behind the table. She's waiting for me to say something after what I just said when she knows that I don't have any more words to say after that.

I had to stop myself from going near her, hold her hands, make her stop, tell her that no matter how much she fiddled; it'll never change things. Will it never, really? Way to go for being negative, Quinn.

How many times have we been through this before? Twice? Thrice? A dozen times? I don't know. I can't remember. Or maybe I remember all the times that we did but my brain is just too stubborn to keep those memories. Is that even possible?

I wanted to tell her there isn't any wall between us—not now, not ever. Just as I promised to her before. Then why do I feel like after I said "one year", the Great Wall of China suddenly fell between us? Did she see it coming too? Did she notice how my world trembled after I said those words?

What are we doing now then? I know, I know. We're staring at each other. Quinnly Staring Game, as we often calls it. Neither one of us wants to lose. Blame it on her competitive swimmer's side. Blame it on my cheerleader's side. But whichever, I'm not backing down. I won't be the first to fold. At least not again.

Wait, did she just try to remove one of her hands from her jacket's pockets? I knew it. I'm winning this game… Emily's about to fold.

"I…" we both said in unison. How cliché.

"No, you go first," she said.

"No, you go," I said.

"Fine."

"Fine."

"I love you, Quinn."

"No, I love you, Emily."

"No, Quinn, I love you more."