I've spent the last few days replaying the insanely hot moment I shared with Liam. I was not expecting that. I wasn't expecting to be devoured by an insanely cute guy who both infuriates and captivates me. Liam is unlike anyone I've ever met, and although I barely know him, I already know I'm being pulled into the deep end.

There is something satisfyingly safe about Liam that I cannot wrap my head around. Within a couple of days, I have seen multiple sides of him; his anger and darkness were an unexpected discovery, but his tenderness was just as much of a surprise. Knowing that he can be so gentle, so subtle with his movements, is enough to make me want to break him open and see what lies underneath his rugged exterior.

My laptop sits open on my bed with a blank word document displayed on the screen, the small text line blinking at me. I've been trying to write a letter to Laura for the past three days, but each time I start, I end up deleting it. 

My therapist suggested that I write letters to Laura as a means of staying connected with her. This tactic has somewhat helped in my emotional recovery. I use these letters as a crutch, as a way to keep connected with Laura even though I know she is gone. 

I tend to tell her everything, from daily struggles to petty annoyances, distracting thoughts, and insecurities – everything under the sun. But, for the life of me, I cannot come up with the words to describe Liam to her. How on earth do I describe someone who has painted a new picture of New York, changed how I feel about the city, and those who live in it? I'm stuck staring at this stupid blinking line on my computer screen; it's mocking me.

I shut the computer and sigh heavily, looking across my empty dorm room. Renee disappeared to God-knows-where earlier today, and I haven't seen her since. Part of me is still unsure about her, but as the days go by, I'm slowly but surely warming up to her character.

My thoughts are disrupted by the blaring of my alarm, letting me know it's time to head to class.

My day is relatively light, music theory followed by my lesson, and ending with orchestra rehearsal. All performance majors must participate in the orchestra ensemble.

I'm not nervous at all; rather, I'm ready to get this first week of classes over with. After this week, I will find my rhythm, my work esthetic, and can stride on from there. As long as I don't get distracted by something or someone, I'll do just fine.

***

Theory class was nothing but introductions and syllabus overview. But my cello lesson, on the other hand, was a complete one-eighty. My teacher, Shirly, has to be the quirkiest person I've ever met, which is saying something because I have met my fair share of weird people. Her orange-red hair and fashion sense worried me at first, but after spending an hour getting to know her, she has become one of my favorite New Yorkers. Well, her and one other.

I haven't seen Liam since that day, and it pains me to think that I might not see him again, but I feel that it's inevitable. Liam seems like someone who will always be around, who knows everyone and anyone. But, if he can choose anyone, why decide to delve into me, a nobody from Oregon?

Realizing that I'm overthinking this, I flop down on my bed and open my laptop again. That same blank word document stares at me as if it's daring me to write something this time. Instead of ignoring its challenge, I pull it into my lap and begin typing.

Hey Laur,

I hope you're doing well. Life down here isn't much different, well, other than the fact that I'm in New York! I've finally freed myself from the dreariness of Portland like you said we always would. I wish so badly that we were able to explore this city together as we planned, but I think I'm viewing it differently.

Anyway, I have something to tell you; I met someone. I already know what you're thinking, "who is this, someone? Is it a boy?" Yes, it just so happens to be a boy, and one of the cutest guys I've ever laid my eyes on. You'd like him, Laur, he's sweet, kind, passionate, and not to mention a complete heartthrob. There is no doubt in my mind that he has a large following of women. But there's something else; there's a darkness within him that I've never experienced before, and I came face-to-face with it the night we met. It seems to be protective; it's something I'm not sure I should be afraid of. But what I do know is that I don't want to run away from the possibility of something blooming between us.

I'm so stuck on him, Laur. He infuriates the hell out of me sometimes, especially when I'm trying to be productive, like when I'm practicing. But, in the blink of an eye, he changes into the warmest person I've ever met, besides you, of course. There's just something about him that makes me...

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" Renee chimes as she comes through the door.

I quickly shut my computer and meet her gaze. "What's up?" I ask.

"Oh, you know, so done with the semester already," she says, rolling her eyes and flopping down on her bed.

"But it just started," I say slowly, furrowing my brow.

"Oh, Lyla, you have so much to learn," Renee says, rolling onto her back and bringing her phone to her face.

I hum under my breath and reopen my laptop. Thankfully, my letter hasn't deleted itself, so I save it and exit from the program before I do anything stupid, like delete it on purpose. "Are you going to orchestra tonight?" I ask, looking up from the screen.

"No, thank god," she groans. "I'm so glad that pianists are exempt from the orchestra requirement. I can't imagine having to give up my free time twice a week, in the evening no less!"

She does have a point. I could be using the time to work on assignments or do readings for class. But, even with that fact brought to light, I'm still excited to participate in the ensemble. "Yeah, lucky you," I say, trying to match her enthusiasm.

I shift my eyes to the clock on the screen, which reads 5:30 pm. Dinner in the dining hall starts in fifteen minutes, and rehearsal starts at 7. I have just enough time to eat, partially digest, and warm-up before the start time.

I close my laptop again, get up, and stride over to my closet. I pull out a black blazer and a soft pink tunic to go with my faded blue jeans. Once I dress, I slip on a pair of black booties, pack my tote bag with some essentials, sling my cello over my shoulders, and head for the door.

"Tootles," Renee calls, slowly waving her hand in the air from her laying position on her bed.

***

I escape the dining hall before the brunt of the student body arrives for their meal. After a quick pitstop at the bathroom to wash my hands, brush my teeth, and apply some lipstick, I begin my stroll to the rehearsal hall.

To my surprise, many others have arrived even though it's only 6:20.

I find my seat after signing in and retrieving some sheet music. I then stare at the scribbled letters on the name tag placed on my chair for a moment before gently placing the tented piece of paper on the back of the music stand.

By the time I settle into my seat, more people have arrived. The digital clock on the wall reads 6:45, still giving me ample time to warm up. Like usual, I begin with scales and articulation exercises, but I stop after ten minutes in fear of prematurely wearing out my fingers.

In my final minutes of freedom, I sense the social temperature change within the room. I look up from my music stand to see a group of men walk into the rehearsal space; I immediately take notice of the tall, lean, blue-eyed one.