This night is sparkling, don't you let it go, I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home

Miley

"Honey are you sure you haven't forgotten to pack something?" My mom, Tish, frustratedly brushed some hair away from her face. She was a nervous wreck; shaking hands, sweaty forehead, even some lip biting was involved.

You'd think she was the one who had something to be nervous about.

"Mom," I give her a comfortable smile. "Relax. Everything is going to be okay. I'll board my plane, dad will wait for me at the airport and I swear I'll behave this weekend." I even hold up my two fingers, scouts honour way.

She blows some air into her cheeks, making them three times sizes bigger each. I have to bite my lower lip to prevent myself from laughing out loud. She looks like a fish.

"I just don't understand why he couldn't just come here instead of pushing you to fly across the world so you could see him!" Mom presses her jacket closer to her body like she's experiencing a sudden whisk of cold. I grab the handle of my suitcase firmly inside my palm.

He was my father. Well, he still is biologically. But other than that he stopped being my father the moment he dumped my mom for a much younger, controlling, blond bimbo and moved to London.

Yes, I'm aware half of the world's teenage girls would jump at the opportunity to fly across the world and even go as far as live with their father just because he moved to London out of all the places but well..I'm in the other half.

I hate to fly. I hate the blond bimbo. I hate London and most importantly, I hate my father.

"Mom, I already told you," I sigh, this time moving a few strands of hair away from my face. Now I was getting frustrated. We've been over this a thousands of times at home. She always made a big point of disagreeing to let me see my father, but this time I stood my way.

Even though I hated my father, he was still that. My father. And besides, I haven't seen him in almost a year.

"I know, I know." My mom steps closer and tries to grab me into a hug against my will. I hated hugs. They gave me creeps. What was with the whole point of smashing your body against another one? No pleasure came from that for me. So I just chose not to hug. Ever.

But I guess I could make one tiny little exception. I was after all traveling across the world and there could be a big perception of me dying on this plane.

"Okay then," Mom pulls away and wipes her eyes. Oh, so she wants me to think she's so heartbroken over my leave so that I get a guilty attack and stay home. Not gonna happen, Mom.

"I'll see you in three days," I pat her shoulder comfortably, and start to turn around when her hand stops me.

"If something happens, come straight home, understand? I don't want you to think you have to stay just because he's your father—"

I push her hand away. "Mom, I'm seventeen, I'm fully capable of taking care of me. I'll be fine." I stand on my tippy toes and give her a small peck on the cheek. "Bye."

With a small wave my mother steps away and lets me cross the parking lot of the airport. I didn't even know I took a deep breath until the door of the airport closed behind me and I let it all out.

"I can do this," I mumble to myself. Two days at my father's couldn't be that hard to withstand. I was a strong girl, almost a woman who could take this the grown up way and be totally –

I stare at the big clock on one of the big gates. 6:49 pm.

Fuck. No way. No way was this happening to me.

I grab the holder of my red suitcase and start running down the corridor, yelling silent apologises to every human being a bump into. I don't care much, though. What's important is that I get onto that plane.

I get into the elevator, pressing the number 3, the same number of the floor my plane was boarding. I tap my foot impenitently as the numbers change so slowly I think I would've made it on foot faster.

The moment the elevator door cringe open, I rush out, my suitcase bumping behind me. Everybody in the waiting room stare at me, their faces masked with amusement.

I glance at my wrist watch; 6:51 pm. Okay, okay, maybe they held off the plane. Yes. I mean, I'm only one minute late. They couldn't of have possibly closed the gate yet.

No one was was on time in the 21st century. Everybody was always late.

With newfound hope, I start dragging my suitcase alongside the white floor until I find the big green number 6 flashing in front of me. I let out a sigh of relief. I did it.

That's when my suitcases' wheel stops moving. I kneel down, and realise it's stuck in a small wrinkly hole.

I look towards the flight attendant who took the last boarding ticket and behind an old woman closed the door. I contemplated between screaming and yelling for help, and racing towards the gate and explaining how fate was a funny little thing but at the end I realised no matter what I'd do there's no way they'd let me on that plane.

Once the door close, they stay closed.

I stare at the wheel, thinking if I call my mother and tell her the plane left without me, she'd have a heart attack and instantly come and get me. She'd say it's a miracle, and that this was the God's way of saying I wasn't mean to go to my Dad's.

So to spare myself the headache she'd cause, I got up and pulled my suitcase with all the force I could. It didn't even shake. Great, I think bitterly, this is just fucking great.

I unbuckle my leather jacket and let it slide on top of the suitcase. I don't care if I look like a wacko, as I sit on top of my suitcase. Maybe under my weight it will crumble down and the whole thing will swallow me.

I don't know what's wrong with me. One moment I want more than anything to escape the American ground and just move in with my dad. My dad who was always there for me when I was younger. Who made me play soccer when I pouted and refused. Who wiped away my tears, and who read bedtime stories every night.

And then I'd remember the day he left and I'd hate him all over again.

Because what he did to my family, to our family is unforgivable. You don't promise forever to someone only to deny it twenty years later. You don't spend time with someone for this long and then just pack one suitcase and ship yourself around the world; as if you try to escape the only that that should be your priority.

You don't leave your life for a young, blonde, big breasted bimbo.

I look down on my watch. 6:54 pm. I stand up. I missed my flight for four minutes. I sigh, shaking my head as if that'll cloud away my mind. When I try to move my suitcase it doesn't buckle again. Instead of doing anything about it, I just take out my plane ticket, my passport, my wallet and without another word I silently walk towards the one of the flight attendants.

She smiles the moment she sees me walking towards her. I let my lips stretch into a smile as well. Mom always taught me to never let anyone know when you're angry, tired or frustrated.

And well, I was all three of above. But nonetheless, I smile with my pearly whites flashing out. "Hello," I say, the southern accent I got from my father peeking out slightly.

The flight attendant leans over the counter, "What can I do for you, Miss?"

I turn over my shoulder. Yep, there's my suitcase. I move my head back. "I was late for my flight, and I'd love for you to check if there is any free seat on any other plane..." I push the ticket beneath the glass.

She takes it and types something at the computer. I bite my lip. What if there would be no more open spaces? What if I couldn't go to Dads this weekend?

I couldn't really decide if I'd be relieved or disappointed.

"Ah," The woman's face lit up. "I've got one open space," She looks up.

I can't help but to grin excitedly. This is good. "When does it leave?" I ask as I pull some cash out of my wallet. The flight attendant looks back at the monitor and a second later responds,

"9:00 pm." Her white sparkly teeth stab me in my eyes. I mentally groan. In two hours? This day could literally get no better.

"Isn't there any that leaves earlier?" I frown,

The flight attendant shakes her head. "Not with an open seat." She looks at me. "I'm sorry Miss, but are you taking the spot or not?"

I look away. This is where I choose. Am I going back to my mom's, and tell her I missed my flight or do I take this one and be late for my Dad's brunch?

I look back at the flight attendant. I said I'd be independent.

"I'll take it." I say before I can change my mind. I owe this to Dad. No matter how hard the divorce hurt me, he was the best father to me. Always. So I owed him this little trip to see him and by the next time he asks me to come I'll be away in college and too busy to fly across the world.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, after the flight attendant finally sent me away with my ticket in hand, I hurry towards my suitcase that stood untouched in the middle of the busy corridor.

Okay, so my plane leaves in two hours. I have enough time to figure out how to move this stupid suitcase.

First, with all of my strength I try to pull it free. Just like I had assumed, the suitcase stays intact, the wheel only digging even lower into the hole. Damn, I knew I should've thrown this old thing years ago.

With a short shake of my head, I pull away entirely and stand in front of it with my hands at my hips. I bite my lip, as I try hard to concentrate on how to free my suitcase.

Maybe I could try to punch it? Then again The Vending Machine Accident could happen again and I really don't want to cause a scene like that ever again. Even though, it's not like it was entirely my fault! Emily punched it first, and then it just had to be –

"Your luggage won't move if you just stare at it."

I turn my head towards the voice. A brown curly haired guy stood beside me, holding the handle of the suitcase of his own in the palm of his hand. That's not what made me blush completely and have my mouth hang open.

It was the fact that right next to me stood the most beautiful boy I have ever set my eyes on. He had an unruly gleam inside his eyes and as I stared at his baggy sweats, a pair of white Converse and a white v-neck t-shirt I couldn't help but to feel drool coming out of my mouth.

Oh God, there was a Greek god standing next to me. And he was talking to me!

"The wheel is stuck inside a stupid hole." I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. The guy lets his suitcase out of his hand and turns to me with a silent smirk.

"May I?" He points to my suitcase. I shrug, I honestly don't care. I wouldn't care if he took my suitcase and ran off. Not that he looked like a thief. If anything he looked like he just walked out of the most expensive sports store.

I haven't noticed until now but with crimson colour climbing up my neck and cheeks, I realise the handsome Greek god is anything but Greek. In fact, he was English!

I focus my attention back on his arching back as he kneels down and you won't believe it, but I swear, with one pull frees my suitcase.

I stand, awe stricken as he stands up and dusts his knees. "How the hell did you just do that?" I point towards my suitcase. "I've been trying to free this damn thing for at least twenty minutes and you just did it in less than fifty seconds!"

The guy laughs (a beautiful feeling erupts inside my stomach) and shrugs, "I've been looking at you since you strode in the room. After twenty minutes I realised you've had enough and decided to set you out of your misery."

Strode?

I smile. "Well, thanks." I grab the handle of my suitcase and start rolling it down the corridor. I was hungry, confused and pretty much frustrated with this whole day. I just wished the next hour would already pass so I can just board the stupid plane and go see Dad.

"Wait!" I stop when a warm hand catches my wrist. I crane my head, catching the same guy. He smiled sheepishly at me.

"My flight is in an hour and half, and I was wondering if you'd like to..." He scratches his neck. "I don't know, like, maybe join me for dinner?" He looks so hopeful, and I don't have the heart to tell him to fuck off.

So instead of anything, I silently nod and wait for him to lead the way. But he steps beside me, takes my suitcases' handle and starts peeling both of our suitcases as we step into a comfortable silence.

I don't try to speak as we enter a clean looking diner. There are only two other people in, which in the same time makes me uncomfortable and comfortable. Honestly, if Mom knew I was going to grab a bite to eat with a complete stranger, she'd lose it. And me? Well, I try to not think about the fact that the guy next to me is unknown, and try to focus on the fact he wants to have dinner with me.

"So why are you flying all the way to London?" He sits on the opposite side of me, and the way he says London makes me want to swoon. I cross my elbows on the table and lean into the chair.

"I'm visiting my dad." I state. The guy nods then flashes another gorgeous grin. "What about you?" I ask quietly.

He mimics my move and crosses his elbows. "The woman who babysat me when I was little is getting married."

I don't have the time to ask him about it because a waiter appears out of nowhere with two menus. We both take them silently, look through it and order. A moment later, the waiter is gone.

"Where do you live?" I blur out. Oh God, what is wrong with me? There's a hot guy sitting in front of me and instead of being flirty I shot up where he lives. Why would he even tell me where he lives? We're strangers!

He chuckles. "New Jersey, you?"

Surprised, I smile softly. "Me too." He raises one of his eyebrows, a quality I never learned to do, and then his face breaks out into a massive smile. Honestly, the guy looks like he just won the lottery.

"Wicked!" He finally says.

Wicked?

"Cool," I mumble, playing with the ends of my shirt. This is beyond awkward. Why am I here, again? Besides the point that he's too hot to say no to?

"Here is your food." The waiter is back with two big white plates. He sets one in front of the guy first, then places mine in front of me. Both me and the guy thank him, and before I know it, I'm digging into the food.

And may I just say it is delicious.

I literally moan. The guy raises an eyebrow, but I don't care about the impressions anymore. There's an awfully big chance I'm never going to see him, ever again. So I might as well be me.

"This is so good it's making me you-know-what!" I rest my fork against the plate and reach for my glass of water.

"Aren't you a tad wanky?" He sets his spoon down and grabs his soda. I watch as his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he drinks. Once he settles his drink back down, I pout my lips.

"Am I supposed to understand?" I stab some lettuce off my plate and stuff it inside my mouth. Even the vegetables are yummy.

Who knew airport food was this...awesome?

"Oh lord," He leans his head back and laughs loudly. I look away, embarrassed. Am I that much of a dork? Oh man, he was probably laughing at my poor conversation skills.

"What I meant to say was..." He starts once the laugher quiets down. "That you don't think before you speak." He gives me a smile again, and I wonder what did I do in my life to deserve his smiles? I must've done something amazing for it.

I push my plate away as I chew off the last bit of potatoes off of my fork. "Is that a bad thing or a good thing?"

The guy, which I will call English from now on because he's indeed english, and because I can't concentrate on anything besides his gorgeous face which makes me think of One Direction and their hot accents.

Exactly, it's like a member of One Direction is sitting in front of me!

Anyway, English pushes his plate away as well, and then focuses his attention at me. He stares into my eyes as if I hold all the answers of the questions he wants to ask. But instead of doing anything, he just gives me a mysterious wink and says,

"Haven't decided yet."

I can feel frustration building inside me. Who was this boy, -he looked around my age-, and why did he think he had such strong power over me? The truth was, he had no power whatsoever over me.

No, I was an independet woman, who was just looking for someone to talk to. Yes. That's the reason why I just had dinner with him. I needed company. It had nothing to do with the fact that he's hotter than Brad Pitt.

Nothing at all.

"So are you ready to go?" He stands up and grabs his suitcase. I stand up too, confused and frozen at the spot. What in the world does he mean?

"Or you could just keep standing there and miss another flight." English walks by me, softly bumping his shoulder with mine. I take the handle of my suitcase and follow him, completely ignoring the fire he ignited on the spot where his shoulder touched mine.

"What's the number of your seat?" English asks the moment we step in front of the boarding room. I turn to look at his gorgeous face, but I find him starring at the beautiful flight attendant that changed my ticket earlier tonight.

I roll my eyes.

He was a guy after all, I think to myself, and besides it's not like he's yours.

With a shake of my head I throw those thoughts out of the window. I'm not the type of a girl to like a guy the moment I lie my eyes on him. Besides, it's not like I'm going to be sitting next to him on the plane. There's just no way God's that annoying.

When I sense English's eyes are focused on me again, I innocently look up and give him a sweet smile. "I'm 16A."

He nods. "18A."

Okay, so I know I said it'd be quite annoying if he did sat next to me but I couldn't help but to feel disappointed. I honestly think he's a really nice guy, and well shoot me if I wanted to get to know him some more.

The boarding doesn't last long. When I'm next in line, I give the flight attendant my ticket and my password and with a smile she lets me through. I lose English then. He's not behind me when I enter my line of seats. He's not there when I comfortably settle inside the big blue seats.

Sometimes, I loved the fact that my dad was the CEO of some major company. It was an advantage to travel in first class, and I have say I enjoyed it.

A few minutes later, I caught English sneaking inside with his famous grin already attached onto his face.

"Why hello there," He winks as he pushes into the seat next to mine. I raise one of my eyebrows, and point to the seat next to him.

"Isn't that your seat?"

He shrugs. "I'll move the moment someone comes." I nod, feeling kind of flattered. He wanted to sit next to me.

"So are you miffed that your father has a woman in his life other than your mom and you?"

I stare at him, mortified. I can't believe his nerve! How can he just sit next to me and ask me such a personal question? He was way over the line. And I'm going to set him straight.

But trust me, I'm more surprised when something else comes out of my mouth. "How did you know he has a girlfriend?"

English shrugs. "Men are pigs."

I nod in agreement. Then I dab my finger into his chest. "That was way over the line, by the way."

He gives me a small smile. "I know, that's why I said it." I stare at him again. He was so hard to figure out. One moment he was handsome, a gentleman and a kind guy and then the next thing I know he says things that make me question my sanity.

"Mr. Are you in my seat?" An old man grumbles towards our section. English instantly gets up, but in the process of being embarrassed he hits his head against the ceiling and stumbles out of the line holding his head.

I have to try really hard not to laugh.

"Are you okay?" I bite my lower lip. It's really, really hard not to laugh.

English protrudes his tongue and I fake a gasp. Then we both end up laughing silently. All that time the man watches us, never setting a foot away from our faces. Then a flash of recognition washes over his wrinkled face and he points between us.

"Oh," He says, bringing his hands together with a soft clap. "I didn't realise you were together." Then he does something only elder people with a big heart do. He sits down on the end seat.

"We're not—" I try to say, but before I get the chance to finish, the man holds his hand up.

"You two sit down. I'll be perfectly fine here." English looks at the man like he's trying not to laugh, and in the meantime I'm busy thinking all of this through. What if English now regrets meeting me (not that we technically met yet) and we sit through the whole plane ride in complete and awkward silence?

But as he lowers himself into the soft fabric of his new seat, he smiles back at me reassuringly and I can't help but to feel relieved. Because the truth is that now that he's sitting there, she can't imagine it any other way. Now that he's here, she's afraid that crossing an entire ocean without him next to her might be something like torture.

"So," The man turns softy towards us, as he digs through his pockets. "how did you two meet?"

I exchange a quick glance with English.

"You wouldn't believe it, " English starts, "but it was actually in an airport."

"Ah, a true love story," the man exclaims, looking delighted to know this little piece of information. "And how did it happen?"

"Well," English begins again, this time sitting up a bit taller. "I was being quite gallant, actually, and helped her with her suitcase. We started talking then, and one thing led to another..."

The old man seems pleased, "And here you both are."

English smiles. "Indeed."

Something stings inside me and I realise something. Something really bad. I wish it was true; all of it. That it was more than just a story we made up to have some fun. I wish it was our story.

But then English turns his face towards me and the magic of the realisation is gone. His eyes are practically shining with amusement as he raises an eyebrow to check if she's still sharing their joke.

I leave him a small smile before he turns back to the man who launches into a story about how he met his wife.

But the raw truth is; things like this just don't happen in real world. Not really. Not to me.

"And in September, it'll be fifty-six years together." The man finishes with a proud gleam inside his eyes.

"Wow," English says. "That's pretty amazing."

"I wouldn't call it amazing," the man says, still searching is pockets. "It's easy when you find the right person."

English pats his knees, which are shoved up against the seat in front of him. "Hope so," he jokes, but the man only smiles.

"Enjoy your flight," the man finally says, stuffing an earplug into one ear, and then repeating the gesture on the other side.

"You too," I whisper, but the man's head has already fallen to one side, and just like that he begins to snore.

Beneath our feet, the plane vibrates and the engines rumble to life. One of the flight attendants reminds us over the intercom that it's not allowed to smoke, and that everyone should stay seated until the captain has turned off the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign.

Another comes with some masks and shows us how to put them on in case of an accident, but her words are like a chant, empty and automatic and almost everyone in the plane I set on ignoring her.

When they both stop talking, I ease out a sigh of relief. If I manage to survive this flight, I swear I'm going to be a better person, even may try going to the elder home and read to them.

Suddenly I remember English, and I realise we're going to be stuck beside each other for the next twelve hours of our lives, and I don't even know his name!

I turn to him with a raised eyebrow. "So, are we finally gonna meet or what?"

English chuckles. "Right," he says while he blinks. I wonder if he has some kind of a teak he was born with. Then I just start thinking about something else because I can't think about that.

"I guess that part does traditionally come first. Sorry 'bout that." He extends his hand, "I'm Nick."

"I hope you're not lying about your name,"

"Wow," he says with a grin. "I guess the Americans are still not over the terrorist attack."

I narrow my eyes at him in mock anger and then slap him across the chest. The movement comes so naturally that I don't think twice before blushing. "Funny." I whisper.

"And you?"

"Miley."

"Miley." He repeats with a big smile and simple nod. This is not how people responded to my name. Usually the first question would be something along are you sure you weren't supposed to be a boy or something even more absurd.

But Nick doesn't do that, instead he rubs his chin and simply says, "That's pretty."

And I honestly know that he's talking about my name, not me, but I'm still uncontrollably flattered. Maybe it's the accent, or the way he's looking at me with such interest, like my name is what he wants to figure out.

And there's something about him. Something that makes my heart quicken in the way it does when I'm surprised. And I think that just might be it; the surprise of meeting this boy.

I mean, after what happened with the suitcase, and with me being late..I never thought about the possibility that something good might come out of this trip, too.

And when I think that if my suitcase didn't get stuck in that damn hole, I would have never been late for my flight. Neither would I meet Nick. And that makes me smile.

Because who would have guessed that four minutes could change everything?

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew, I was enchanted to meet you

A/N: Yes, this is me writing a brand new story. This was pretty much inspired by a book with similar happenings, and so I don't go to jail (hahaha) I'm gonna say right away that the summary is kind of a quote from that book. I changed it a bit, but it came from there. Anyway, I'm going to continue it if I see that you guys are interested in reading this. :) I kind of really liked writing this. It was a spur of the moment thing, and well I hope you like this story as much as I do :)