I'm Inlove With A Gay

Chapter 1

First Love and First Friday.

My grandmother once said to me when I was young that love…love is not counting the days you spend with him, but counting the days that pass so that finally, you can spend your day with your special someone.

Actually, she speaks about a lot of deep love, but that one went and lived inside my soul when I couldn't stop staring at the clock and wishing it would run faster.to run it faster.

Her love stories were not as shallow as clouds, but as deep as the ocean.

My romantic fantasies began with her, because old love is the best love of all. Perhaps in today's generation, true love and pure love have faded and become a myth, but as a hopeless romantic,

She is the best story teller in romance. My fantasies about love started with her, because old love is the best love of all. Maybe true love and pure love have faded and become a myth in today's generation, but as a hopeless romantic woman, I still dream and treasure true love, loyalty, faithfulness, and being the only one ever loved by my special someone.

Those six days are both tormenting and at the same time full of thrills. And the next day, became a blossom day for me because it was the time were the flower started to grow.

He is my first love. Maybe he is. And I want him to be my first love. I don’t know why I chose him… or, more importantly, why my heart chose him.

This is what my grandmother said…this is a young love. A young heart that blooms as a seed.

I feel so brave standing outside his salon’s door. My mother, Graciella, has warned me not to color or do silly and crazy ideas, again to my hair. Her eyes widened when she saw what I'd done to my hair, even though it was nice and beautiful and it even went viral, but still, she hardly approved of it.

My wallet fell as a side effect of the craziness and rapid heartbeat I experienced when the door unexpectedly opened. And when I looked up, I saw Rafael, or his other personal Rafa, staring at me intently.

"My wallet fell..." I said shyly and he nodded, "For you..." I added, but he only went emotionless, as if he didn't hear me, and walked away.

That was...epic. I whispered and shook my hands off in the air. I wished he hadn't heard, because what a shame on me.

"By the way...thank you for suggesting coloring the only edge of my hair, not the entire hair...it was beautiful and it even went viral in our school," I said first after taking a seat in the chair she had pulled for me. She only nodded and returned my gaze in the mirror.

"I vaguely remember your mother saying in the interview that she does not want her daughter's natural hair to be tainted." "I just remember why," he explained. That made my mouth drop open because I never imagined he would remember such trivial details, especially about people he didn't know personally or who were simply strangers to him.

And….shit! He recognized me!! And right now, my heart floats in the rainbow. Imagine that? Universe, hear that?!

“What thing you would do this time?” He asked when I went silent. I think I wouldn’t be able to talk right now. I would really jot down this date. I will edit and put the date, the month, the year, the time, and laminate it and put it in my picture frame.

On this day, August 11, 2017, my first love remembered something I never expected him to remember and keep it in mind even how many years has already passed.

That interview happened I think around 2013 or early 2014, I think. My mother really remind me every night to take care of my hair. And my long, shiny, straight natural black hair, which the netizens adored and caught attention in the media. It was during when my mother invited to be a judge in the beauty pageant that she brought me there.

"Actually, your hair is already nice, but dying it would ruin it." The highlights in the edges of your hair...could attract a mature man. It's as if you're emerging from your shell and no longer a teen. "He said solemnly. I mustered the courage to look at him/her in the mirror, but she did not look back which why I have the whole universe to look.

I wonder why if he sees me as a brat girl, a young woman, or a lady. The latter would be great because he looks like a four years older than me even with those heavy makes-up.

"If you keep dying your hair, it will no longer be beautiful." "Let's just do a hair treatment," she said, to which I nodded and agreed. I trust in his decision. I trust his perspective and his types.

“Do you have helper here? Or you’re hiring?” I asked, because I looked around and it seems lonely working by yourself only. Even the interior is lively, but he is still lonely because he is alone here.

This is the only time and opportunity I have. I can't come here every day because it would freak him out. And I chose Friday because it isn't a stressful day because it the school is over and no assignments. It means enjoy the weekends!

“I’m not financially capable of hiring a helper. And, besides, I don't have a lot of customers coming here, so I don't need a helper," she said without looking at me. And a brilliant idea popped into my mind.

“I can help you! I can work here!” I exclaimed, ecstatically. She only looks at me strangely, but...his lips arose in a daze, as if he was thinking that the daughter of very successful parents would lower herself to be a helper.

“Or since you don't have enough money or customers, I could pull some strings!" I could talk to all of my mom's or dad's friends, and I would invite my friends as well! “I suggested, but she only sighed and a smile stretch on her face.

“Don’t bother. And thank you for the help, but I like this even better. I don’t want to be the talk of town. And I want it like this, simple living, simple life. “She said. “ Let’s wait for thirty minutes,” she said as she walked over to his table.

I understand his sentiment. Being dragged or linked to my parents' name was tiring, exhausting, and stressful because reporters, journalists, and the media were all over you and flocked you around. I even feel the stress of being the daughter of two successful and wealthy people, how much more to other people.

I was even thankful that my parents chose to live in Robles High, where the media, reporters, and journalists are barred from entering.

Robles High is a place for anyone who is successful, wealthy, a politician, a businessman or businesswoman, an artist, or someone with a big name who wants to live a peaceful life away from the crazy media and reporters. This city was a haven for wealthy people who wanted to get away from stressful media and people who wanted to live a normal life.

And it was extremely difficult to live a normal life, especially with paparazzi all around.

“Do you want to know my name?” I asked him, but deep inside it was sort of offering. I'm still staring at myself in the mirror. I'm not going to look at him. He knows my mother and father, and he remembers anything from more than three years ago. It's impossible that he doesn't know my name. But I want to say my name to him in my own voice. I want him to remember my name because of me, not because of the news he saw or because he heard it from someone else.

I turned my head to look at him, and I was surprised to see that he was already looking at me. Despite his colorful and heavy make-up, he is still the most handsome gay I have ever met.

"My name is Grabiella Concepcion Dela Guerra," I said, introducing myself, when he stops and looked at me as if I were a regular customer…and that was the longest stare he gave to me.

I didn’t mention my age to him because I’m still not ready saying it.

“That’s a very long name," he said with a chuckle that made me smile.

Yes, when I was in first grade, I had difficulty writing my full name because it was so long and tiring to write it in the whole paper back to back.

"You should marry someone with a short last name," he said and chuckled.

“Then, what is your last name?” I asked which caused him to stopped typing.

There was a long silence between us.

"Sevilla," he said quietly. "The thirty minutes are up. Let's wash your hair," he said, standing up without waiting for me to breathe.

His name is short and what he says, he’s only referring to his name.

"Your last name is short," I said as he approached me, but he didn't listen or pay attention to what I was saying. Or maybe it was too soft that even I can’t hear it clearly.

After he uses a towel to dry my hair and a blow dryer to blow dry my hair. He turned his back on me.

"Gabriella Concepcion Dela Guerra Sevilla," I said softly. "I like it," I spoke again. It is absolutely perfect. As I watched him type on the computer, I couldn't help but smile. And I bite my lips because my lips were itching to show themselves.