Even the possibility of facing him made me want to flee. I wanted to run away from trying to explain what I felt to him. There was no word to describe how I felt. None that had a name anyway. None that were strong enough.

Love did not even compare to what I felt for him. It was so much more.

Sometimes I thought too much. I lived in my head and weighed up each decision I had ever made.

A good example of that was when I was six years old. Christmas rolled around and I found myself doubting the existence of Santa Claus. I recollected sitting under the Christmas tree and comparing the width of my chimney to the depiction of the jolly fat man in red. I also compared the number of houses around the world to the hours from night to morning.

Due to all my overanalysing, I missed a childhood of believing in magic. A few years later was when I started writing down small theories on farfetched things in an attempt to retrieve that magic again.

Overthinking had the potential to steal away small miracles in our life.

That is why I decided that the next time I saw Stone, I would tell him how I felt. Then run away for the hills.

Just as I had calmed myself down, my breathing hitched once again as I went to unlock my front door. It was already open and that meant only one thing.

I had forgotten about my dad. As ludicrous as it sounded to say, it was true. I had forgotten that he was absent, and he was who knows where and doing God knows what. For the past week, I never thought once about how much he despised me.

I had been too busy with Stone. He seemed to make the bad thoughts melt away just by being there.

With caution and an expectation to see empty drink bottles on the floor and a familiar stranger in the room, I pushed open the door.

Two steps into the room and I was taken aback. Instead of smashed bottles in the living room, there was a pile of books crowding the space. Mostly books anyway. There were a few other objects there. Most of the things I recognised were from under my bed.

On the arm of the sofa, Pete the Second sat. I frowned in confusion at the stuffed panda that Stone had won for me.

The nicely laid out mess was not the work of my father. The objects were organised neatly and with purpose. Not by a drunk.

The only question was why.

With questions unanswered, I dropped my bag with the black silk dress that I bought earlier on the pile of books.

"Stone?" I called while walking into the dark corridor leading to my bedroom.

My bedroom door was closed but I could see the light was on from the slightly ajar wood.