Arghierenia Kyrimi

Written for a 500-word fiction challenge requiring participants to complete a story within 48-hours based on a surprise assigned genre, action, and object.

Genre: Romantic Comedy
Action: Renovating a home
Object: Allergy medicine

496 words

Note: Let me tell you that when I woke up on a busy Saturday morning to find out my assigned genre for this challenge was Romantic Comedy I wanted to toss my phone across the room and scream bloody murder (blue murder?) But alas, my spouse was asleep, my clients awaited, and I had already paid the entry fee. So, by late afternoon, I had accepted I would be writing my first ever rom-com, had thought up a rough idea for a story, and had just over twenty-four hours left to actually write it. I quite like it, the judges quite liked it and so – enjoy!

The Fourth Time

It was the fourth time your radiant, pearly smile brightened the living room of my shabby flat. The first time, I had called because I needed you. Putting up those cheap overhead cabinets without a professional’s help was bound to end in disaster. From then on, I feigned incompetence. I had purposefully and meticulously planned my renovation project to be DIY-friendly. To save my pennies, but also because I liked DIY. It was a joy and a struggle to watch you explain things to me I already knew. How to not strip a screw and how to hold a mallet. By the fourth time, I felt straight up silly. I had called you to hang up pictures and mirrors, as if I hadn’t done this a dozen times before. Anticipating your arrival, I started worrying I was being predatory. But I was offering you work, and it wasn’t like I was ogling you while you carried it out or anything like that. I just had a profound desire to see you; your deep brown eyes, your short, coiled hair, that ridiculously perfect grin.

When you were about to leave, I felt my knees give. I couldn’t afford to keep calling you. Besides, my flat finally looked homey and bright. I went to bring you your jumper and despite myself held it close, considering pretending I couldn’t find it so that I could keep it. Immediately, I knew I’d made a grave mistake – my eyes watered, and I started sneezing relentlessly. Hearing this, you ran to me.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Do you have a cat?’ I managed to choke out.

‘My boyfriend does. Why, are you allergic—’

As I scrambled to the bathroom for my antihistamines, I felt lightheaded – you liked men. You dated men! The connection I had felt between us… I hadn’t imagined it.

You waited until my symptoms were under control. Even opened my nasal spray for me and watched me inhale and sniffle, your puppy eyes laden with concern. But once the front door closed, reality hit me. It didn’t matter what team you batted for. You were taken.

I didn’t call again.

Next time I saw you, you were with him, holding hands down Dean Street. I ducked behind that bin so fast and still you spotted me. Over lunch, my sister came up with the most elaborate plans to break you two up, while I stared at my miso in despair, cringing at the memory of you watching me dumpster diving, pretending I had accidentally binned something important. What was the point? You were gorgeous, your boyfriend a perfect ten. Why ruin your happiness when I could never replace him?

But you weren’t happy.

My car broke down near your flat. Can I come over?

It was a month after the bin incident. I stared at the text in disbelief, certainly not expecting the next one.

I promise I won’t bring any cat hair along – I no longer go there.