#edukayfun

Speed paint (with a song in the bg that sounds so good, that it even sounds better on mute 🔇 🔥)

then you don't deserve me at my

pairing- Ulsa x Papa

word count- 1866

genre- (tiny) fluff, angst

summary- second chances are what he wants, but he hates them. He’s made mistakes during his teens, made up for them in the early adult life and screwed up again. He’s confessed too late, or too early, but he manages to find the right time to propose. He’s an average guy, but she doesn’t settle for average. Perhaps it was the mistakes that he wishes to reverse.

The sun peeked out behind the rain.

It was when I first met you. We were 7 then, young children without a care in the world. We often met up at the park, starting off as shy strangers but then forced by our mothers to talk to each other. Our friendship then blossomed, secret glances at each other during school were prominent. Inside jokes emerged. Playdates became more often. Our parents started to get concerned about the amount of time we were spending with each other, but we didn’t care. We were 7.

Fast forward a few years later. We’re now 12, and because we’re friends of the opposite gender we’ve drifted apart, and everytime we look at each other we are reminded of our past friendship. Despite all the fun we’ve had as kids, I start a rumour about you. Something about how you drank alcohol at home. The rumour spread, turning your own friends against you, leaving you with no one to trust. I don’t know why I did it. Perhaps I was jealous of you- many of the boys circled around you, begging for a piece of attention.

It’s when you turn 13 when you find out I started that rumour. You had moved to a different school, but you were still living in the same town. Coincidentally, we saw each other at the park we first met, and you came to me without hesitation. You glared at me, exasperated. “Why the hell did you start that rumour?” you said to me, growling. I panicked, trying to look confused as if i forgot about that rumour. “What rumour?” I replied, nervous. “You know which rumour it was. Don’t lie to me.” I roll my eyes, throwing up my hands in defeat. “I don’t know why. Now get away from me, Ulsa.” You scoffed, smirking. “Bullshit.” You turned around exiting the park without a second glance at me. I too turn to leave, but before I can do so, I notice that you’ve left something behind.

It’s our friendship bracelet from years ago.

We don’t interact again before university-during high school I have a few affairs, none of them serious enough, all while seeing none of you. Yet i kept hearing stories about you from my friends, saying how you had won a local science competition. Many years after and you were still the charmer, and I hated it. I hated it with a burning passion. I would retch at the mention of your name while all of the other boys followed you.

We were 16 when you had your first serious relationship. It was with a guy named Rory. Rory was handsome-practically the male version of you. It was obvious that you two would get together- the royal couple as many people would say, yearning for a relationship like yours. And for the following year, I knew of all your dates with Rory, no matter how hard I tried. I wanted to ignore you, yet i kept going back to your icetagram and checking your story every day you had a date. It hurt me whenever you posted a picture with Rory, but I kept liking every picture you posted of him. I was 17 when I realised that I was in love with you. You were still with Rory, arm in arm, and glaring at any girl who had intentions with Rory. You loved him, and he loved you. In order to forget about my lovesickness about you, I hooked up with a girl. You may know her- Placida, your best friend. I purposely went to your table and flirted with your best friend in front of you, and I enjoyed the glares you sent me. I had to pretend I could be fine without being with you, and I flaunted my “strength” in front of you. I remember the conversation we had while you were third wheeling with me and Placida. “What is up with you?” “Me?” I asked, innocent. I cocked my head to the side as my phone buzzed. The conversation we had was put on hold. I checked my phone, and the rain started.

It was when we were in university when we started to tolerate each other again. From project partners to inseparable friends. It felt just like as if as we were 7 again, without a care in the world. But we did care about many things- often, I came to your dorm to deliver some coffee to you because you were pulling an all-nighter. Sometimes you came to my dorm with bags of fried chicken, relieving me of my stress. The playdates we used to have were replaced with playing Mario Kart together, our old inside jokes replaced with new ones. It felt like being rebirthed, especially when I was with you.

There was a thunderstorm when I accidentally told you I loved you. I was at your dorm, sitting around after a round of Mario Kart when i said into the comfortable silence, “You know, I really love you.” You look at me, shocked. “What?” you replied. “As a friend, obviously,” I say back, panicked. “I don’t think I would have felt this liberated without you.” You laughed, probably relieved that I just managed to cover up my accidental confession. “You were such a jerk during high school though,” you laugh.

I laugh at my childishness. “I know.”

We continued to share notable events in our lives, even though we couldn’t see each other too often. You got a job at a law firm, and I got a job as a doctor. You had a niece- I didn’t have any. We were at the climax of our lives.

Both of us were not prepared for when you called me, crying, your words incomprehensible. It prompted me to go to your house at once. Once I got there, you fell into my arms, tears staining my shirt, not that I cared. “Rory broke up with me,” you said through tears. I did my best to console you, feeling the arms to grief tugging at my heart. Over time you got over him, thankfully, because that meant I finally had the chance to be with you.

I never planned the breakup from the very start, but I was immensely grateful that it happened because I would have never had a chance. We spent more time with each other, the rainy days filled with sunny days and the days of grief and tears were no more.

A year after Rory broke up with you, I confessed to you again. And unlike last time, it was not an accident and I had no intention of covering it up if it went wrong. I was ready to let go of this friendship, because I wouldn’t have been able to handle a second rejection.

How lucky was I that you accepted.

As soon as you said you accepted my confession, I did the most romantic thing I could think of and kissed you. You were definitely surprised at it, but you didn’t pull away.

And so 5 months of dating went by.

I had loved you my entire life, so I had a plan. To propose to you.

Many would argue that 5 months is far too little time of dating before proposing, but those 5 months felt like 10 years with you, because time never stopped when I was with you.

It was all ready- the reservation, the ring, everything. And when I popped the question, you wouldn’t stop screaming and of course you accepted, making me the happiest person on earth.

2 years after we got married, we had Johnny. After the birth, you looked up at me with tired eyes and said, “did i do it?” I laughed and stroked your cheek. “Yes.Yes you did. I’m so proud.”

Johnny’s childhood went by fast, and our love went strong.

It was strong until that day. The day when I found you in our bedroom, crying. I asked you what happened, and I tried to hug you, but you shied away from me. “Why?” you asked.

“Why what?” I reply, unsure.

“Why did you touch the ice?”

Of course. It was snowing on the day. I dropped the bucket of ice and picked up some to put back into the bucket, but I wasn’t sure why you would get angry at me.

But how could I forget? When we were 8, we were running while it was raining. And then the hail started coming down, and I ran to shelter. But you? You kept playing in the hail, until you dropped down. You were taken to the hospital, and from that day on you hated ice.

So what could I say? You were always the one for dramatics.

“It was an accident, Ulsa, I’m sorry.”

You turn to me, angry. “I don’t know why I married you.”

Those words hit me right in the chest.

And so, we fought, we fought like crazy and we couldn’t stop, eager to dispute each other. Anyone who knew about the fight weren’t surprised that we got divorced.

But me? I was angry that you had ended our marriage over ice. It was a small thing, and yet you chose to push me out of your life because of that one thing. I hated it. I hated everything.

We split paths naturally. I don’t know what you’ve been doing for the last 3 years, but I see that you’ve gotten over me. I still haven’t.

You’re getting married again tomorrow, to a man named Donald. I can’t help but feel jealous, like I did in the teens, because I want to have you. I wanted you to always be mine, and I never wanted to let you go. I feel so angry that I’m making Johnny go by himself and to give this letter to you, because I can’t bring myself to look at you being happy with someone else.

I was never supposed to be with you. I hated being rejected for the second time, and look where I am now. I was forever destined to be rejected by you since the day I told that rumour about you. If I didn’t tell that rumour about you, could I have confessed earlier and became in a relationship with you rather than Rory? Could I have gone back in time and told myself to be more careful with the ice bucket? Or could have I gone back in time and told you to get under cover when it started hailing? Where did I mess up? What was so despicable about me that I couldn’t keep you by my side?

Nevertheless, I do wish you the best with your new husband, because above all the negative emotions, I wish for your happiness. If he makes you happy, then I am satisfied. I only exist for your happiness, and nothing else.

Hopefully it doesn’t rain on your wedding day, like it did on ours- it rained so many times when i was with you, it must be a bad omen.

Have a lovely marriage, filled with everything you could have ever wanted.

Yours,

Papa.

*dramatically rips off sheet of paper off cardboard to reveal ‘a child rapist’*