It is mid-week. You know what that means: it’s #WritingWednesday! I had trouble deciding on what to share with you guys today because my mood has been all over the place. Therapy for Souls just reached 400 reads yesterday—I still can’t believe it—and I updated it two days ago. I thought an excerpt from that chapter would be a cop-out because it’s not exactly new if I’ve already posted it.
I wrote a few paragraphs of the next chapter yesterday and thought that would do it—that’s what I’ll share. I didn’t write much, but it was something.
I ultimately decided to NOT go with the latter just because I don’t want any spoilers ruined. All I can say is you know EXACTLY what will happen in that chapter once you read that opening paragraph.
So today, I have the last portion of the latest completed chapter. Basically, Parisa is sharing a somber parting moment with Kristian before he has to leave for Moscow. This happens in her dressing room a couple hours before her Parisian show and it’s…well, that last sentence says it all. I’m not spoiling anything by saying she does die in Paris since that’s mentioned in the prologue
Happy reading! I’d love to know your thoughts. I’ll see you Friday for a Happy Things post!
xoxo – F
A mellifluous peal of laughter rings from his vocal box; I can feel Kristian’s chest move as he laughs. An alarm suddenly blares and he sighs deeply. I feel his hold on me loosen, his warm embrace becoming colder. This can only mean one thing: time for him to leave.
“I wish I could stay for your show,” he glumly comments.
I close my eyes and breathe in positivity. Once I exhale melancholy thoughts, I swivel clockwise to face the music.
“Schedules change. It’s not your fault. We’ll see each other soon. I promise.”
‘Yeah. I just wish it was not now.”
Kristian’s phone rings. He hangs his head and retrieves the gadget. Again, another defeated sigh.
“It’s Tijana,” he announces. “I should go, Parisa.”
I run into Kristian’s arms, nearly knocking the wind out of him, and bury my face in his chest. Something deep down tells me we won’t see each other for a while, not even at my Sofia or Moscow shows. Because of that gut feeling, I breathe in the scent of his shirt, hold him tighter, and cherish every second of this moment.
Kristian tilts my chin up and kisses me. Chocolate lingers on his lips while spearmint tickles my taste buds, creating a sweet combination of flavors. For a few short seconds, these flavors consume me and he is everything. A smile forms on his lips once we break, and he gently strokes my cheek.
“It will not be that long,” he vows, although the muddied expression in his eyes beg to differ.
“You’ll be my groupie again in no time!” I jest.
Kristian chuckles, then silence falls between us. His phone rings again. I can’t leave him empty handed, so I take off the ring on my right index finger. It’s way too small for him to wear, but it’s the sentiment that counts. I place it in his right palm and smile small.
“You can wear it on a chain or something if you want,” I suggest as I fold his fingers on top of the ring. “It was a present from my parents for winning Eurovision.”
He opens his hand and raises the rings for inspection. The 24-karat gold band has three small gems: an emerald, opal, and ruby. Green, white, and red for the Italian flag. Kristian furrows his brows and regards me with uncertainty.
“Are you sure?” he questions. “If this means a lot to y—”
“Wherever you go, you’ll always have a part of me,” I explain. “And I have part of you with me too—in my heart. Don’t worry about it, Kristian.”
He lovingly kisses my forehead and doesn’t argue any further. Without a word, I walk him to the door. Kristian fishes my phone out of his pocket and hands it over; blood rushes through my veins as our fingers touch. He looks into my eyes once last time, then leaves. I think it’s better that he didn’t say anything; my heart wouldn’t have been able to take it.
I sluggishly walk into the confines of my dressing room and ponder over what just happened. I might as well prepare for the show too. Although my fingers reach for the concealer, my eyes focus on Kristian’s flowers. I smile weakly as I think about how they match my crown. Seconds later, a notification from him pops up.
@KristianKostov_: Good byes are never easy. Kill it tonight @ParisaNicchi ▲
He’s right. Goodbyes are hard as fuck. They’re harder to endure when you know you won’t see the other person for weeks or possibly months. But…you never know when you’ll say your final goodbyes. Life’s that unpredictable. Something terrible could happen tonight, and that could have been the one last time I’ll ever see or speak to Kristian again.
Don’t think like that, Par. Don’t think that! It’ll be alright. You’ll see him again and hear his cute little accent when he speaks in English again. Reply to his tweet so you know you’ll be fine. Send back positive vibes so you truly feel it.
@PariaNicchi: @KristianKostov_ It wasn’t goodbye, but see you later ▲
Why do I feel like I just tweeted a lie?