She preferred books over parties. She preferred plays over clubbing. She preferred films over one night stands. She preferred concerts over meaningless drunken nights.
She preferred quiet nights in, with her friends, or a nice book to kill some hours. She preferred writing and drawing creatively, over wasting her money on needless material things. And because she was this way, she was tagged as the “loner”, or the“girl who wasn’t experiencing university properly”, but it wasn’t like that at all.
If she wanted to, she could go out to parties and drink herself silly, if she wanted to, she could go out have meaningless sex with hot guys at clubs.
But she didn’t want to.
She didn’t want to waste her time, her mind or body. It was hers. And always would be, but the thought of having that intimacy shared with someone she didn’t even know, was not appealing at all.
In her stories, she wrote about love and couples, not that it was her favourite thing to talk about. In fact, her favourite kind of stories to write were magical, fantastical and always involved some extraordinary world, with bright colours and spells whispering in the air.
However, sometimes, a story would spring to mind, something about mundane and special relationships, that actually worked, that actually meant something. And in her fanfictions, where she wrote about characters in all types of fandoms, she seemed to find an escape, she seemed to find happiness in the release of her flowing, free words.
It was the same with her own original stories, there was something about the written word that allowed her to let go, to not think about her own life and focus on her characters.
But she’d never been in love. She’d never been kissed. She’d never had a boyfriend. And yet, love sometimes, seemed to be something she wrote about. She didn’t care that she’d never been in a relationship, that didn’t both her, she was perfectly happy as she was and didn’t feel the need to change her lifestyle to suit society’s ideals.
What she actually wanted was for someone to understand her.
For someone to see her for who she was and not judge her – she wanted a friend that didn’t look at her funny because she shipped Steve and Bucky, or because she preferred Harry and Hermione together, over Hermione and Ron, despite her love for both variations.
She wanted someone to understand why she loved books so much, why in her life; books were the only friends she had for a long time. She didn’t need love or a relationship to be happy.
That’s not what this was.
This was, wanting someone to look at her and not see grey.
She wanted someone to look at her and see colour.
And he did.
He always did.