"It's just a number, and it means nothing. Don't go on gloating over the damn number. I am not an idiot; you'd better stop this nonsense of getting back to me." I smirked at my father, who couldn't admit my victory. It's been years; he always taunted me for being lonely, for not making any effort in building friends, and yes, he also cautioned me about dying of loneliness. I would always shrug and ignore it every time, but this time, he made sure that I took the matter seriously. When I took it seriously, this was his damn reaction.
From the party day, I am making sure to produce the number on his face and make a proud announcement whenever the situation fits in.
"I spoke about real friendship; nothing is ever going to work between you two. He is and ever will be your competitor; snap that triumph that you are flaunting." I glared at my father, who, in return, smirked at me. "The feeling of being around friends, gossiping around them, skipping something, getting a night out, and parties—these are all different and special, meaningful memories. They bring meaning to our lives in every way, and I bet you are not going to enjoy those things in this life."
What the hell was his problem? "Friendship means contact. Have you contacted him at least once?" That wasn't the damn deal. "You hate human contact, of course; it doesn't apply everywhere. It's just a damn number, nothing more or less. Are you getting what I am saying? It's just a damn number; shut that smirk and erase that number." By grumbling a few more things, he started walking.
I stood in the hall, annoyed and clutching the cell. The deal was to make a friend, and I fulfilled it; it's irrelevant whether I contacted them or not. It's been nearly 10 days, and the guy was sending me casual messages, 'good morning,' 'good night,' and in between, asking, 'How are you?' I have seen his text but never bothered to reply to him, not even once. I was busy; I could find many reasons to defend myself. I never thought of going beyond approaching, greeting, and a handful of conversations. At the end, getting a cell number was out of the syllabus, but it just happened.
Feeling friendship, enjoying, gossiping, and hanging out need a lot of energy. In my busy schedule, that's just impossible. I need to do something to get over this side of mine, which is presumed to be my weaker side. I need to mingle and start building so-called friendships, and I need to start with the party guy. He is damn perfect, and I don't know why. He is just right for this job.
After the pledge within me, I didn't waste any more days. The previous whole night, this friendship thing was bugging me. I should have given it a go by texting the guy, but I was too exhausted to do anything. I slept for only an hour or a maximum of two more; after that, I didn't get any more sleep. When I woke up, I was tired, my body was aching, but I had set my mind strongly on contacting the guy today. No more reasoning out. Here I was going toward my dad's biggest rival's house, without giving prior notice to his son.
I was too drained to think of the consequences of my action. I want to build this thing at the earliest and need to shut up my dad forever. I can do this; I am going to show him.
The car was stopped in front of Desmond's mansion, and I got out with grace. As I stepped down, I scrutinized the surroundings, which did justify the word 'mansion.'
The exterior was good and large, a beautiful garden with a fountain in between. The garden was blooming with different flowers, and it was vast. Normally, I never enjoyed this part, but strangely, it's drawing me. My dad has always given special attention to the garden area, but with all the things that are going on in me, I never felt anything, especially drawn.
The mansion is big, enormous, with so much space around it. It builds in a few acres more than my dad had built; the mansion is bigger than ours and more welcoming than ours. The air felt different, warm, not cold, which is what I usually feel. I inhaled once again and entered the mansion.
Once again, my eyes roamed; there was so much to take in, and I was too tired to study every detail. Furniture, curtains, tables, chandeliers, paintings, and carpet. My eyes were tired of taking at least one glance.
A servant was in front of me with a warm smile. After pleasantries, I informed her of the reason for my visit with the same non-wavering smile. She made me take a seat and was off. I leaned back a little once again; my eyes were studying the details to pass the time.
A large wooden dining table, at least 12 to 15 people can be accommodated at a time. There were so many doors, a large staircase, carpets in the relevant area, and paintings that screamed richness. Everything was perfect and classic. Nothing was overly decorated, and things were royally fitted to the mansion.
An elderly man was descending the steps and abruptly stopped when he spotted me. He rubbed his eyes to clarify and also pinched himself, for which I rolled my eyes. Mr. Richard Desmond always hated my guts for no reason. In the next minute, he was in front of me, glaring.
"What the hell are you doing here? Who invited you?" I was opening my mouth to answer before that, he continued. "This is my house, and my enemy should be outside my damn house, not inside." He took a sharp breath, glaring harder. "I hate your father. He exhaled a breath. "to the core. I hate his existence." That makes two of us. "We are enemies; you are going to be our enemy in the damn future. I don't have any plan to entertain my enemies." Annoyance was overflowing from him, which I just shrugged off. "When I am shouting at you, you should not make yourself comfortable on the damn couch. You should leave."
"What are you doing? Leave the kid alone." I grimaced at that, and Richard faced the intruder. "What is wrong with you?" The party guy glared at his father. "Rowan, do you know who this is? Our number one competitor's son, who just snatched so many business deals and is still doing so." "Whatever, leave the kid alone." Rowan crossed his hand over his chest, trying to match his dad's intimidation. "You invited him." "Of course, we met at the party, and we befriended each other." Richard huffed at that. "Are you crazy? You didn't find anyone to befriend?" "Dad."
"Why are you shouting, Richard?" Mrs. Adrianna Desmond, I have seen her in lots of magazines; she is a charming, sophisticated, and beautiful lady. "He invited Morris's son." Still glaring at his son, who just shrugged. "And?" She was confused, and I almost wanted to chuckle. "My cutthroat competitor son, Ady." I could feel her eyes on me as she approached. I got up to greet her. She had a warm, welcoming smile on her face. "Hi, dear. I am Adrianna, pleased to meet you." I was about to stretch my hand and introduce myself when she hugged me. I went still for a brief second when she withdrew, watching my face for the answer. I answered with a low, crazily soft tone. "Dante, I cleared my throat and spoke. Dante Morris." She chuckled at that.
"Ady, what are you doing?""Feel free, ok, don't mind him." "Richard, breakfast now." Richard followed his wife timidly; it was almost comical. Rowan stood in front of me with a broad smile, and I almost copied him, but my conscience kept me in place. "Hi," Rowan said with that contagious smile. I nodded my head at the gesture. "I almost thought you got fed up with me." I chuckled at that and shook my head. "Well, you didn't reply, so I was bound to think that way, right?" His smile faltered a little because of me. I cleared my throat, contemplating my next word to discharge the situation. "Sorry." The word flew smoothly, without any hesitation, and I felt proud when I saw his broad smile. "It's ok; I guess you were busy with studies. Did you have breakfast?" I shook my head, and I was dragged to the dining table.
When we approached, it was occupied by the whole family. At the head of the table, Richard sat; to his right, Adrianna; one daughter, I guess the elder one, sat on his left; and the other two daughters sat beside Adrianna. Everyone paused when we approached the table, and Adrianna, with a smile, told me to occupy the chair and informed the chef to serve us.
"These are my three daughters: Ameria, the elder one, studying fashion design; Amelia, my second, who is studying architecture; and Audria, my third daughter, who is studying art and is a model. Everyone, he is Rowan Morris." There was a surprise look on their faces, except Audria, who was nonchalant. Everyone said hi; they were also welcoming except Richard for a reason and Audria for no reason. "No hitting on him; he is a damn kid by age, but his build may confuse you. I don't know what stupid things he is taking at a young age." I scoffed at that. "Richard," Adrianna said with a stern voice, and by facing me, she said sorry, for which I nodded my head.
The chef approached us, from a safe distance, and they started filling the plate, starting with Rowan. I am not a foodie; I eat anything edible just to survive the day with my busy routine. Whatever my chef throws on my plate, I will promptly clear it without complaining or demanding.
"What do you like to eat?" The sudden voice whispered in my ear. I considered the question, contemplated the answer, and shrugged in return when I didn't find one. Rowan smiled in return. "Shall I do the honour of filling your plate with my favorite?" I nodded my head at him, and I showed him the fruit section, so that he made sure to include that too. Rowan stretched straight away to the greasy items, and in time, I held his hand in fear.
This was the second time I felt something with the touch, an unknown feeling, yet a knowing touch. I felt this at the party, but I always felt that way with the connection; this was something different. I didn't feel repulsive like usual, but more like a shock. I don't know whether it was a good kind or a bad kind because I never linger to find out.
Rowan was staring at me still; his gaze was on all the fatty items. No wonder this guy carries the fat factory. Rowan chuckled awkwardly and cleared his throat. "No greasy items, got it." I left a breath without being aware that I was holding it.
Once we finished breakfast, Rowan and I were in the hall. "You'd better get going, or else you will be late to your classes." Rowan rolled his eyes, including me, at his father's departing sentence. By kissing his wife, he headed toward the door.
Rowan, facing me, spoke. "He is usually not like that," Rowan informed me with fidgeting fingers. I nodded my head in return. "So, what about yours? Are you getting late? I can drop you. Where are you enrolled?" The questions were non-stop. "Home schooled." He was taken aback at that. "Oh, so when are classes going to start?" "At 10, and I am sorry." Rowan was perplexed. "I will text you next time." "Really?" With an enthusiastic smile. I don't know why he is so enthusiastic all of a sudden, like he is friendless like me. I nodded my head, chuckling. "We should meet up on the weekend. We both will be free." For the first time, I have a plan with a friend. Great, I achieved something for the day. I can't wait to throw it on my dad, but it's too soon. I nodded my head at the plan. On cue, my car arrived, and his did too. By bidding goodbye, we parted.