The-Spanish-Love-Deception-www.indianpdf

life-altering moments. Some had lasted seconds, no more than glimpses or
moments in which a realization dawned. And others had lasted minutes,
hours, even weeks. Either way, I could count those moments with both hands.
Recite them from memory too. The first time I’d dipped my feet into the sea.
The first math equation I’d solved. My first kiss. Falling in and out of love
with Daniel. All the terrible months after. Boarding that plane to New York
to start a new life. Watching my sister walk down the aisle with the biggest,
happiest smile I had ever seen on her.
And then there was Aaron.
I thought I wouldn’t be able to pick one single moment when it came to
him. Because it was him, the one thing that made that span of time important.
Life-altering.
Falling asleep in his arms. Watching his lips bend into that smile that I
knew now had only been for me. Waking up to his voice, to the warmth of
his skin against mine. Watching his face crumbling down. Him walking
away. His absence.
All of them had left a dent in my heart. In me. All of them had changed
me. Shaped me into someone who allowed herself to open up, to love, to
needing and wanting to give herself not to anybody, but to him.
But as much as all those moments that had made me fall helplessly in
love with him left a mark I’d never be able to erase, one that I didn’t think
would ever fade, it was the split second when I had known I needed to get
myself on a plane to Seattle and find him, the one moment that felt …
transcendental. The realization that I had let him go too soon, too carelessly.
So foolishly. The moment it had dawned on me—like a blow straight to the
middle of my chest—that nothing else besides going to him mattered. That
nothing should have stopped me from running into his arms. From being
there for him when he needed someone the most.
But was it too late? Was the clock still ticking on my life-altering
moment, so I could turn it around, or had I lost my chance?
My head spun with that question for six hours on the flight from New
York to Seattle, continuously bouncing from blinding hope to the dread that
could only come from anticipating loss. And when the plane touched ground,
I still wasn’t sure whether to feel hopeful I was closer to him or whether I
should have employed that time to ready myself if Aaron told me that it was
too late and asked me to walk away.
I thought about it some more as I waited for a taxi, drove to the first