I had him at hello, a Romance fanfic

I had him at “Hello”

by Ola

A/N A piece written for an English class. Dedicated to my friend. Hopefully he will never read this; it would be embarrassing. I just love writing about him. I can’t help myself. So this is for you sunshine ) Enjoy.

I stared at my plate and picked up a piece of flaky croissant, twirling it between my fingers until it crumbled into smaller pieces back onto the plate. Despite the late hour of the morning, my stomach protested the very idea of food. I didn’t even dare look at the tall glass full of orange juice that stood next to the food tray. Across the small table, my friend wasn’t faring much better, but I felt no comfort at the thought. Overhead, engines rumbled loudly, as planes took off every few minutes from the strip of tarmac outside the window. Mine would soon follow them to take its place among the birds. For all my love of airports and planes, this was the one time I wished to be anywhere but here.

The time didn’t want to stop or slow down. It just continued to tick away as we sat in silence, it ticked when we got up, it ticked when we walked away, heading toward my departure gate, holding each other tightly, as if to make up for the words we didn’t dare pronounce. There was no line at the passport checkup. Only a few employees, beams of warm sunlight, and silence punctured with the muffled rumbling of engines, were present in the large terminal. It was the end of summer; most vacationers had left for home already. This silence and emptiness only heightened the feeling of an ending. The end of summer, the end of vacations, and the end of so many other things.

I had never minded good-byes before, but I also never had to think about my feelings for the person I was leaving. They had always been clear before. Now, I wasn’t even sure when I would see him again. Sunglasses hid the tears but not the runny noses. We clung to each other for a moment. A last parting hug, a stronger squeeze, a few words, a kiss, and I was passing through the gate. A wave through the glass now separating us. The glass, the sunglasses, the tears, all blurring him from sight, as I turned around a last time before walking away.

The house was a chaotic whirlwind. My aunt was getting the kids dressed, my sister was rolling her oversized suitcase across the hallway to plop it next to mine and our uncle was copying last minute pictures onto a CD. As long as there were things to do and to occupy my mind, I wouldn’t have to think about what was about to happen. Pressed for time and mindful of Vienna’s unbelievable traffic jams, we finally left without the CD. Our uncle would mail it later on. A flurry of hugs, promises to call as soon as we arrived back home, and heaving of suitcases. Because our baby cousins needed car seats, we drove to the airport in two cars, my sister, aunt and cousins in the first, my friend and I in the second. For the first time that morning, I found myself empty handed, with too much to think about and too much silence. I looked out the window just in time to see my aunt’s house disappear behind a curve in the road. I tried to clear my head of any thoughts, and resolutely stared out the side window for a while. The drive to the airport was silent, as we both tended not to speak much. Instead, we held hands for most of the way there. For a long time afterwards, I wondered how he managed to drive a stick shift one-handedly.

“Make a wish.” The coin he dropped onto my palm was warm, just like the stones under our sandals, radiating the heat accumulated from weeks of summer days. It had a certain weight to it. Not much. Just enough for me to realize it was there, in all its smooth texture.

I looked into the blue green waters of the fountain, edged in by the ancient stones of the cathedral, and my mind happily sauntered onto its own path. The middle of summer, the limpid green of his eyes, my plane ride back home in two weeks; then the last year of school and… god knows what.

The ploink of his own coin hitting the water brought me back to reality, just in time to see it sink into the depths of the fountain. The brilliance of the smile he turned to me seemed to ask: what do you wish for? Many things. But none seemed right for the occasion. I wasn’t superstitious, but just in case, I thought hard about a possible wish. I wasn’t sure what I felt for him. A few months of weekly e-mails and a week of daily meetings, across an unsure language, in a foreign country. What was he for me? And I for him? I settled for a wish in between and tossed my coin into the fountain, where it landed next to his.

I sat in the passenger seat, rigid with…anticipation? Fear? Excitement? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t have much time to sort it out; we were there. The center of Vienna's young night life. Fitting place for my aunt to take me on my second day in Austria? It really wasn’t so strange. We had come because of me, or rather, because of the person I was to meet. He was standing by a staircase near the parking lot entrance, waiting for us.

I cannot remember my first impression of him, I was too flustered to say more than “hi” through the open car window, before we drove away to find a parking spot. Even this late in the game, I still wondered whether he had confused me with someone else. Perhaps he had heard my name and thought it belonged to another girl? And where had he heard it by the way?

A few minutes later, I was standing in front of him, and of all things, shaking his hand. It didn’t make me feel any more confident. On the contrary. But I reasoned to myself that this was the first time I was ever in such a strange situation, the first time I saw him, and the first time I talked to him.

Well, that is not entirely true. It was just the first time I was conscious of it.

Two years before, during summer vacations, I had visited my aunt in Austria. Uncle Christian had his own company. He was a “Dachdecker und Spengler.” A roofer. So whenever they had some free time, they would slowly building their new house. The outside was framed and sided for a few years now, but the inside still had no doors, not much furniture, and no kitchen to speak of. But they were building most of it by hand; it was taking time. I was there mostly as a guest and a bit as a babysitter for my very young cousin. The house was a collective project of whoever happened to visit my aunt and uncle on a particular vacation.

It was early afternoon and we had escaped the heat of the day for a short break inside. We sat by the table, drinking apple juice mixed with water, and trailing dust wherever we went. I hadn’t heard him knock. The door was open so he had just stepped inside, as he was used to doing. He worked for my uncle’s company, and came to their house to help with the construction work from time to time. I remember him standing by the door, talking to my uncle in German. At that time, he was just a stranger to me. I had simply smiled and said “hello,” unsure whether he would understand, but any of the few words I may have known in German had evaporated from my mind.

That was my first impression of him. Tall and slim, short blond hair disheveled by the wind, bright yellow and blue work clothes, a friendly smile and an endearing shyness that left him standing up by the doorway, legs crossed at the ankles, and hands tucked deep in his pockets. He had gone back outside to work soon after, and I hadn’t seen him again that summer.

“Your aunt called. She asked if she could give your e-mail to a boy,” were my mom’s first words as I stepped into the house one Friday evening. Then came the “good evening honey” and the hug.

“… What?” My laundry bag slipped onto the floor while I struggled to kick my shoes off and think of what she had just said at the same time. I had five aunts; none of them lived in the States. Who was the guy? Did I even know him? Or rather, how did he know about me? My head was swirling with math formulas, paper deadlines, and physics’ problems. Finals were in a week. I excused myself in advance for my pathetic lack of concentration and ability to think, and quickly followed that statement by questions before I even finished shaking my head to clear it off.

“He met you two years ago. He works for your uncle. He wants to talk to you. Practice his English.” My uncle had two dozen guys working for him. Maybe five were in my age range. I didn’t remember meeting any one of them except a wave in passing. I obviously couldn’t have actually talked to one of them. I didn’t know German.

That Sunday morning, sometime around 11, I shuffled into the kitchen and turned on my laptop. The habit of checking my e-mail before going to class was too ingrained, no matter that it was the weekend and I was home. In between the junk mail, class announcement, and messages from friends, was one from a person I don’t know, although the subject line gave it away.

Hi Ola

I think you can’t remember me when you have seen me at Christian’s house. I ask Christian for your e-mail adress because I’ve often think of you. Sorry my English is now not so good because I have not don’t speak English for long time, forgive me. My name is brani and I am 23 year’s old. A little bit of me when you can’t remember me.

greetings from Austria and from me Brani

A/N Please Review and tell me what you think ) Thank you.