[Gazette] Ephemeral (1/1)
Title: Ephemeral
Genres: General, Introspection, Romance & Humor [both in light doses]
Rating: G
Warning: Story length.
Characters: Reita & OC
Synopsis: Attraction in an entirely new definition.
Comments: This story rooted from one question alone but took almost three months to complete. Inspirations for finishing this are never-ending rainy days and reading books written by Haruki Murakami and Banana Yoshimoto. Despite Reita somehow fitting the criteria of the male protagonist halfway through the story, I still left both parties unnamed because it felt and looked better that way. Hopefully it doesn't get confusing. And if you haven't guessed yet, yes: this is Gazette het. If that shocks you or turns you off in some way, you have my permission to faint now.
Disclaimer: They own themselves and I own myself [OCs included]. Fair enough.
Today marks the sixth death anniversary of her father.
She stands before the polished tombstone with her mother and younger sister. They are deep in prayer, each one sending wishes and expressing sentiments to their dearly departed as if he is alive and listening to them. The only difference is that they are doing it in silence, as if almost to themselves, and it nearly feels like a monologue.
An occasional rustling sound comes from the trees surrounding the area whenever a soft breeze passes by. A few birds chirp every now and then to add a little life to the somewhat gloomy atmosphere. When they were done with their prayers, they proceeded to lay out their simple offerings of fruits and flowers. Then they take their leave.
As her mother and sister walk ahead of her, she looks up at the bleak sky and all around her. Everything she sees can be summed up in three descriptions: quiet, gray and dead. Which isn’t the least bit surprising since they are in a cemetery, after all.
She stops walking when she spots a quick movement to the right out of the corner of her eye. Curiosity gets the best of her as she takes a few steps forward to find out what it can possibly be.
She finds a young man standing before a white granite tombstone. His back is to her, his hair obviously bleached because of its unnatural blonde color. He is carrying a wooden pail with white flowers in them and is immobile for the first few seconds, as if he is contemplating on what he is doing there, what he is supposed to do next. (That is what she thinks, judging from the way he stands.) Then he slowly puts down the pail to take out the flowers and proceeds to place them on the surface of the tombstone.
He does not turn around, so he doesn’t see her.
She does not see his face, so she can’t tell what he looks like.
It’s not a loss to either of them.
- =:+:= -
The rain comes down almost mercilessly.
The sudden change of weather was something unforeseen. He expected it to be sunny throughout because the sun was in its usual place in the sky this morning. Maybe he can take this as a lesson not to readily believe in weather reports.
He seeks shelter from the closest place he can find, which is the public waiting shed. He stands there along with other people who have no umbrellas, some vocally complaining about the capricious weather, others silently waiting for the rain to pass. Wiping away the droplets that managed to get on his jacket, he lightly wraps his arms around himself afterwards as he scans the darkened heavens, surveying how thick the clouds must be, wondering when the rain will stop.
Sighing softly, he turns his head to the left in hopes of finding something interesting to look at to pass the time. He only finds more rain and one or two courageous souls braving the downpour without umbrellas.
This time, he turns to his right. He finds a young woman standing at the farthest side of the shed, probably around the same age as he (or perhaps 2 or 3 years younger than him). Judging from her semi-doused appearance, she must have also been a hapless victim of the weather’s fickleness. She is rubbing her upper left arm repeatedly as if to warm it, her face showing an expression of slight annoyance. Her lips move a little every now and then. Probably she is muttering something to herself. Or perhaps she is cursing the weather. Who knows?
He doesn’t know how long he’s been looking at her. And then all of sudden he feels someone bump into his back-a clear reminder that they aren’t the only ones seeking temporary shelter from the rain. He turns around to take a look on who it could be. He finds two teenage girls give him apologetic looks, yet as soon as he turned his head away, he thought he heard sounds of what suspiciously resembled muffled giggles.
The rain finally ceased after a good five minutes of coming down hard. Grabbing the opportunity while it was there, the people from the shed started leaving one by one.
Before he does, he tries to find the young woman he’s been looking at a few minutes ago.
There is no sign of her anymore.
He goes his own way from there.
- =:+:= -
She enjoys working in this quaint little café.
Despite the pay not being high and only working part-time, she finds a sense of satisfaction doing her job as a waitress. Most people in today’s society usually evade such jobs as long as they can help it, mainly for two reasons: because the job is too lowly for their tastes or they don’t like being ordered around. And with the kind of lavish lifestyle the country has, the salary isn’t even enough to cover the costs of both the monthly rent of the apartment and one week’s worth of meals. Unless you have a better paying job or you can make ends meet, it’s either one or the other that has to be sacrificed.
Such thoughts she considered but still she handed in her résumé. Time has its ways on proving preset notions wrong. Admittedly, she stays for the pay (even if it’s not really high) and to gain some work experience. The added bonuses that make life in the workplace quite bearable are her co-workers. They’re quite the amicable bunch (as long as it’s not rush hour-tempers usually flare up faster at this point). That, and the café’s ambiance itself is soothing, reminding her very much of a warm home.
The café was also a place for her to indirectly meet and observe different kinds of people from all walks of life. She’s seen old and young people alike enter and leave the place. Some are polite, others just downright rude. Some can be funny while others can be quite sarcastic. Some left tips either as a sign of generosity or just to brag to their friends how rich they are. Others don’t even return the tray where their change and receipt are placed, and that becomes deducted from the paycheck of the unfortunate waiter or waitress who served said customers.
A co-worker taps her on the shoulder, startling her a little but turns to take a look nonetheless.
“Deliver this café mocha to Table 5, please. Thanks!”
She takes the tray handed to her and scans the area with keen eyes. The place isn’t that filled yet. Aside from the staff taking the afternoon shift, their customers consisted only of an elderly couple (seated in one of the tables in the middle), a young man drumming his fingertips on the table as if bored (the window is right next to him), and four female college students gossiping (they’re at the farthest end to her left). Being a waitress for three months tells her that this is normal. Time is slower when it's 2 o’clock in the afternoon.
Remembering what table she is to approach, she makes her way there with practiced ease. As she draws nearer, she finds the occupant of Table 5 the young man drumming his fingertips. She also notes that he has bleached blonde hair and, as if his fingertips are already sore, he stops his actions and sorts to tilting his head to gaze out the window to see if there is anything interesting happening in the streets.
She nearly stops walking when she remembers that he is the very same person she saw in the cemetery on the day of her father’s death anniversary.
Not once does he look at her when she finally reaches his table and puts down the cup in front of him.
Not once does he spare her a glance when she gives a quick but polite bow, cheerfully telling him to enjoy his coffee.
Not even once does he tear his eyes away from the window to look at who served his order.
She doesn't mind, though.
- =:+:= -
He finds it extremely odd to be standing inside a bookstore.
He has never been the patient one when it comes to books or places filled with them. He can hardly recall the last time he stepped inside one. He can’t really fathom why some people can spend endless hours hanging out in a place like this, thoroughly immersing themselves in countless books that whisk them away to other places.
Seeing things in that kind of perspective, he finds that he cannot blame them after all. People are often tired from and relentlessly beaten by realities exhausting and harsh. Through books, they find some sort of temporary distraction and release.
That still doesn’t change his mind on books being unexciting to him, though.
Manga, on the other hand, piques his interest more. That explains his presence in the manga section of the bookstore. He finds it a little comical to be the only adult present at this time, with the occasional teenagers who pass by but don’t stay long. Although unlike them, he doesn’t plan to get anything; he’s just there to look at the titles the store carries. He takes a peek every now and then at random volumes of the series he once followed. Purchasing them is certainly out of the question; they may lay forever forgotten because work demands a lot from him, and on his days off he prefers sleeping by a whole lot.
He comes across a title he’s not familiar with. Out of pure interest, he reaches out to take it from its spot on the shelf. He turns the graphic novel in hopes of finding a catchy synopsis at the back. But, he catches a sudden blur of light pink from the corner of his eye instead, and he momentarily forgets what he is about to do.
He finds a young woman in a light pink shirt (obviously the blur he caught) scanning the titles of the shoujo manga portion not far from where he stands. Unlike him, she knows exactly what she’s looking for, as if this is second nature to her. She stops at a particular spot at the top part of the shelf after a minute or two of contemplation, pulls the selected graphic novel of choice, and scrutinizes it for a while as if confirming that it’s the one she wants.
He recognizes her as the same young woman from the shed a week before.
He discretely watches her smile in satisfaction as she leaves the aisle and goes out of his sight. He stands there for a while, unmoving, blinking twice as if disbelieving what he saw.
For a moment, he thought he heard an inner voice coaxing him to go after her.
But as quickly as it appeared, the voice faded when a graphic novel suddenly fell from its place in the shelf, successfully snapping him out of his daze. He picks it up and puts it back where it belongs. Then he remembers his original task at hand and so shifts back his attention to the novel he’s had his eye on before the distraction.
He finds no reason why he should go after her.
- =:+:= -
She waits for the subway train to arrive and contemplates how its speed and movements are a lot like life’s transitions.
She checks if she is stepping beyond the colored line or not. Then she cautiously cranes her neck to the left to see if there are any signs of the train coming.
She sees none.
She breathes out a soft sigh as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and all of a sudden she finds herself humming to the tune of several children’s songs. She stops, blinks, and tries to comprehend why such things are occupying her mind-and out of the blue, to boot. There really is no reason for her to do such a thing.
Or perhaps there is-just a bit, actually. Sometimes when she remembers the rhymes or when she sings them mentally or out loud, she gets nostalgic and long for days of innocence, of youth gone by. It may be true that an individual has a lot more freedom as an adult and get to do whatever they want. Yet sometimes, dealing with a scraped knee is simpler and more preferred than facing the brutalities of everyday life.
The vacant space a few meters away from her becomes occupied, but the occupant’s identity is not her priority at the moment. She finds more importance being on the lookout for the train, trying to figure out whether it’s going to arrive now or after a few more minutes.
She spots ominous orange lights from a distance. The train has finally come.
She double checks her bag to see if it’s still closed and undamaged. Even if the station isn’t packed with people right now, it didn’t mean that thievery wasn’t rampant. One can never be too sure or relaxed.
She hears a slight cough come from the person standing on the once vacant space.
She gasped quite audibly when she saw who it was. The surprise must have been too profound for she was rendered speechless and didn’t even notice the arrival of the train despite the loud noises coming from it to make its presence known.
Slightly gaping, she watches him go inside one of the train’s compartments after the doors have opened and some of the passengers stepped out. She sees him take a seat on the nearest available space. His back is to her so all she can make out are the mass of blonde locks and the side profile of his face.
She stares intently at him that she doesn’t notice the doors closing after the time limit for loading and unloading has been reached. The train moves forward inch by inch at first, and then gradually gains speed until it zooms off and vanishes from her sight.
It dawns upon her that she’s been left behind.
Not knowing whether to be amazed or appalled on how unfocused she can get, she mentally berates herself for her previous actions. Thus, she vows to be more alert next time.
Nonetheless, she can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
- =:+:= -
Today is her day off and the weather turned out to be lovely: not too windy, not too sunny.
She takes it as a good sign and decides to go to the nearest park a few blocks away from where she lives. The park was thankfully not filled with crowds upon her arrival. However, most of the people there were with their boyfriends or girlfriends and, to her shock, blatantly making out.
Not that she finds (excessive) public displays of affection loathsome. But her purpose of going to the park was to unwind, not to watch intense lip locks and heavy petting.
Finding a somewhat desolate spot near the edge of the park’s lake, she hurriedly makes her way there. After making sure that she is nowhere near couples and in the company of a few single people (some asleep, some seated on the benches, and some staring into nothingness), she brings out a blanket from her bag and spreads it out on the grass, takes off her shoes and sits on it afterwards. Looking at the clear waters of the lake for a while, she proceeds on reading the book she brought along with her.
As she leafs through the pages and concentrates on the characters’ dialogues, her mind momentarily strays to the mental image of the mysterious, bleach blonde haired young man. She wonders what kind of person he possibly is, what he looks like when he smiles, frowns or pouts; what his voice sounds like when he talks or whispers, where he is right now and what he may be doing.
Two passersby-a young couple, obviously-catches her attention when their gleeful laughter reached her ears. Their hands are clasped tightly together as if afraid that their significant other will drift away from them if they don’t have a firm hold.
She tries to imagine what it’s like to be his girlfriend.
She tells herself to get a grip.
- =:+:= -
Dozing off was the last thing he expected to do.
At first, he was watching a few ducks sail by in the park’s lake without a care in the world. He remembers regretting a little on not bringing bread crumbs to feed them lest they come out of the water and pass by his spot. Then the cool breeze and the not-so-scorching rays of the sun made him yawn a bit as he felt himself being lulled to sleep by the tranquility of the place.
And sleep he did.
He feels a little more invigorated now that he’s awake. He sits up and takes a look at his surroundings. The number of couples making out has decreased and, in grim amusement, he surmised that they must have taken their activities to a more private place. He thinks of it as a good thing, actually, because he personally doesn’t like extreme displays of affection-in public, no less.
He scans the area some more until his eyes land on a particular person he least expected to find.
She is only a few meters away from where he is, sitting on a spread-out picnic blanket, focused on nothing but her thick paperback.
Before his mind can fully register what he saw, his phone suddenly vibrates against his thigh, startling him a little. Someone was calling.
He begrudgingly takes the phone out of his pocket to answer the call, all the while keeping his eyes on her. He mentally observes how the conversation seems to be taking so long to finish (this particular caller liked to blab away, for some reason). He finds himself getting a little impatient, which should not be the case no matter what angle he looks the situation at.
It’s like the young woman is more important right now over anything else.
He starts panicking slightly when he sees her stretching out her arms tiredly, closing the book, standing up and started folding the blanket she’s laid out. His attention has now been split in half as he tries his utmost best to concentrate on the phone call (he’s listening but only half-heartedly) and watching her retreating form at the same time.
An invisible force within urges him to go after her. Yet he remains glued to the spot, phone still pressed lightly against his ear, not really caring anymore if the person’s words at the other end of the line are reaching him or not. The sudden sense of loss has successfully captured his full attention, taking hold of his insides with a vise-like grip.
He knows that this will bother him for a day or two, even if he tells himself not to think too much about it.
And it’s funny and disturbing in a way, because one is not supposed to feel anything for a stranger.
- =:+:= -
“I’ve noticed that you seem to be on the lookout for someone else. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He turns to the voice laced with sulkiness only to see his girlfriend’s pouty expression.
He completely forgot that he was on a date with her, and feels a pang of guilt for being too absorbed with his own thoughts, for being absent-minded. It’s been a while since he last saw his significant other and his wish of spending time with her has finally been granted. But what does he do? He ends up thinking of something else instead and doesn’t confirm nor deny what his girlfriend said.
He shakes his head and apologizes sincerely. “No, I’m not hiding anything. I’m sorry if I gave that impression.”
She shoots him an annoyed glance as if to say she doesn’t believe him, but thankfully breaks out into a huge smile after a few seconds.
“You know I can never stay angry at you for long.” Tiptoeing a little, she kisses his cheek and says that she forgives him. Clinging on to his arm a little possessively for his taste, she presses closer to him as they walk down the not-so-crowded sidewalks of town.
He sighs as discretely as he can. While he can’t deny that his girlfriend is a wonderful person, he sometimes wishes that her mood swings weren’t that frequent. He may not say it vocally but this is one reason why he’s wary around women in general: he thinks he has them figured out through their moods only to see something entirely different and be proven wrong over (and over) again.
“You know,” his girlfriend starts, and he looks down to peer at her face, “when I was out shopping one time, I came across this really lovely bracelet in a jewelry shop not far from here. It’s made of fine silver, has some fancy stones in it, and my friends say it’s a perfect gift from someone you love.”
He already has an inkling where the conversation will lead to even if he doesn’t hear the entire story. However, he stays quiet and tries to look as attentive and interested as possible.
“I’ve had my eye on it for almost a month now. I told myself that if I had it, I’d be the happiest person in the world...”
She trails off, and he knows precisely that that is his cue to speak up and present his offer to get it for her.
All of a sudden he finds himself being half-dragged, half-pulled by her, who surprisingly became fully energized upon hearing his words.
Along the way, he wonders if the young woman is anything like his girlfriend.
- =:+:= -
She frequently toys with the pendant of her necklace.
She does it every time she wears necklaces. As long as they have pendants-whether big or small-one way or another, she unconsciously ends up playing with it as if her fingers have a life of their own.
She doesn’t wear accessories unless necessary. She believes that adornments are to be reserved for the grander occasions. Lately, however, she’s been wearing the necklace with the pink heart lavaliere, a present given to her by her mother when she was in her second year of high school. She likes it for its simplicity and color, and how it can go well with both casual and formal wear.
She also keeps seeing him whenever she wears it. That gives her another reason to like the trinket so much.
She fondly labels it as her lucky charm. She also gives an entirely new meaning to her fingers playing with the pendant. It’s like a magical lamp and genie combined that, when she wishes to see him, all she has to do is rub the surface of the heart and it will be the key to having it granted.
She is currently standing on the sidewalk, waiting for the “Walk” sign to blare green. She has been fumbling with the pendant for more than a minute now. When she became aware of what she was doing, that was when she caught of something from across the street.
Him.
Before she could rejoice on how lucky her necklace is, she catches a glimpse of a girl holding his hand (explaining why his arm is outstretched), leading him inside an expensive-looking jewelry shop.
She doesn’t notice the “Don’t Walk” sign go dull in color and the people beside her and from behind her start moving as fast as they can. She remains inert, trying to process what she just saw and what it means.
She slaps her forehead with her palm. She should’ve seen that one coming.
The smile on his girlfriend’s face is an obvious sign that they are a happy couple. And for some reason or another, she finds herself smiling involuntarily at the thought of him as a sweet, kind man who likes seeing his significant other happy and always wearing a delighted expression on her face.
She deems it strange to feel torn inside to find out that he is taken.
- =:+:= -
He finds himself thinking about her too much.
He tries asking himself why he allows her to plague his mind, why he constantly tries to find her in every place he goes to. No matter where he may be at-the bars he goes to at night, the busy streets during daytime, or the packed live houses he and his bandmates perform at-he’s always on the lookout in case he has another encounter with her.
So far, though, he has been unsuccessful in his endeavors, making him go as far as to believe that she is purposely eluding him. (Which is not the case, and he is aware of this. But he can’t find any other reason so he sticks to that.)
Perhaps he should try not to look for her. Then-maybe then-she will show herself.
It’s always like that, isn’t it? When you’re looking for someone so bad you’ll go to whatever lengths just to achieve your goal, they will never reveal themselves to you. But when you have either given up or don’t look for them anymore, they suddenly appear before you. And right when you least expect them to.
Life is certainly full of ironies.
Confusion, frustration and a tinge of desperation all rolled into one, he seeks advice from a close friend of his concerning this matter. Just as expected, his friend advises him to stop thinking about a person whom he doesn’t even know (except being familiar with her face).
“You have a girlfriend already. Even if she doesn’t know about this, it’s not fair to her.” His friend tells him. “And don’t think too much about those events. Look at it this way: what if you keep on seeing her only because you take the same routes or something? Your meetings can even be out of pure coincidence.
“And besides, you can’t possibly feel for someone you just keep on seeing. That’s impossible.”
He stays silent for a few minutes, allowing his friend’s words to sink into his mind (especially the last sentence). He can even hear the logical part of himself cry out in triumph because for once he is actually doing the right thing by acknowledging the advice given to him-which rang with the absolute truth.
Yet deep inside, his emotional side refuses to accept the advice. That, along with his stubbornness makes him want to stay firm with his beliefs: that this is fate, that this is something you can’t be reasonable about.
Because you don’t choose who your heart beats for sometimes.
- =:+:= -
Red roses signify passionate love.
Or so the florist told him when they were discussing what he should get for his girlfriend. Despite his awareness of roses having many colors, he never knew that they had several meanings behind them. It made his head spin a little because the act of giving flowers to your beloved was supposed to be simple-on his part, anyway. He goes to the flower shop, selects the best-looking roses, purchases them after having them wrapped nicely, and off he goes.
He humorously asks himself what rock he’s been hiding under all this time regarding this matter.
He takes a look around the place as he waits for the florist to add the finishing touches to the bouquet. Everywhere he looked there were all sorts of flowers in various conditions: mere buds, fully-bloomed, and some threatening to die any minute because they were slowly becoming sere (they were separated from the healthy ones, though).
Aside from the always-present roses, there were also orchids, daisies, carnations, lilies, and some others he isn’t familiar with. Most of them are in buckets according to type and color to allow customers to personally handpick the flowers of their choice. Some are in ready-made bouquets while others are arranged and placed in fancy vases, each one trying to outdo the other as they boasted their beauty the best way they can.
To his surprise (and amusement), he spotted a few money trees and bonsai plants for sale on a semi-secluded corner of the shop. Making sure that the florist was still busy with his task at hand, he discretely pokes the leaves of one of the bonsai plants as if to check that they’re the real thing.
Since the space inside the shop was limited, there was also a selection of flowers outside, but of a fewer variety. He finds another florist there (an elderly woman), watching over the flowers to make sure nothing happens to them.
And then he sees her.
She is outside the very shop he’s in, fawning over the flowers, looking delightedly from one bunch to the other. The florist in charge kept an eye on her as she did this. Their mouths are moving every now and then. Probably they’re discussing about what’s best to get or something along those lines.
He continues watching her until she finally settles for a bouquet of pink lilies. The elderly florist gave it to her after she was done wrapping them, accepting the payment afterwards. The young woman smells the lilies and smiles.
For that moment, he pretends that the bouquet is from him.
For that moment, he pretends that she is smiling at him.
The moment was disrupted when the florist called out to him.
Slightly disgruntled, he turns to the florist to take the bouquet. Mumbling his thanks, he hastily makes his way out of the shop but finds her nowhere to be found.
Then and there he can’t help but compare her to a rose:
only to be seen but never to be touched.
- =:+:= -
She adores lilies, especially the pink ones.
She was on her way to the supermarket when the flowers sidetracked her. Fresh and newly-bloomed, looking at them reminded her of her mother’s garden back home. She remembers how bleak-looking her apartment is so she decides to buy some in hopes of adding color to her otherwise monochrome home.
The kind old woman-apparently the florist in charge-was patient with her as she debated on whether she should buy a bouquet of pink lilies only or go for a mixed bunch. She does some small talk with the elderly woman, asking simple questions like how much a lily bouquet is, if a flower basket is costlier, et cetera.
As she listens to the old woman’s answers, she vaguely discerns a scene involving someone inside the shop poking the leaves of… something.
The small talk continued. The florist in charge was quite a sales talker for her age. After a long time of pondering, she decides to go for the lily bouquet for now. She selects the prettiest and pinkest lilies from the bucket and hands them over to the elderly woman. She watches her wrap the flowers in fancy paper and secured it with a red ribbon, then paid for it the moment she had them in her hands. She brings the flowers close to her nose and inhales their sweet, clean scent, and smiles afterwards.
She was about to leave after giving her thanks to the old woman when she catches sight of movement from the inside. She was right: there was someone, and this someone must be the person poking the particular something earlier.
Bleached blonde hair and a broad back.
She knows that it’s him even if she doesn’t take a look at his face.
It may be strange to anyone to easily identify a person without having to look at their face for confirmation, but to her it was almost like a special skill of sorts.
She suddenly remembers that she’s supposed to go to the supermarket and so gives a quick bow to the elderly woman before leaving. She needed to be early before the time service sale ended. A tray of eggs for only 10 yen and two trays of tofu for 20 yen are not an everyday occurrence.
Along the way, she reflects on her previous actions and can’t help but feel a little ridiculous. She acts as if the man is a past lover worth evading at all costs.
But maybe it has something to do with her unconscious denial of him having a girlfriend, and that forgetting about him (despite unexpectedly seeing him always) is for the best.
She’s just thankful that at least they’re strangers;
otherwise, things will be harder and more complicated.
- =:+:= -
She has always liked the sound of the waves.
Listening to them calms her mind and heart but she has never come to appreciate it until now because of a most unfortunate event that happened in the past (she almost drowned at the age of 8). Since then, she has been wary about anything related to the beach.
Somehow, over time, she was able to overcome her fear of the water but still refused to go swimming after that unpleasant experience. She is satisfied staying ashore and wading her feet in the water-no more, no less.
She is barefoot and walking near the shoreline, enjoying the feel of the soft, wet sand against the soles of her feet and in between her toes. There is no one in sight, and she feels a sense of pride knowing that she has the place all to herself.
The tranquility of the place slowly sent her into a nostalgic mood. Soon enough, memories she knew she had but somehow forgot started flashing in her mind one by one: her first day in kindergarten; the bullies she brawled with in the playground when she was in second grade; the girlish playmates she had back in fourth grade; the dog she pleaded so hard to her mother to own when she was in sixth grade; her long list of crushes from middle school up to high school.
And then, without warning, he comes into the picture.
In her mind’s eye, the memory of his bleached blonde hair, broad back, and somewhat lonely-looking side profile of his face appear as clear as water.
She is very much surprised at the 180-degree turn of her thoughts. She was innocently reminiscing at first and now all she can think about and remember is him. The way he looks, the way he moves, the way his girlfriend was dragging him inside that jewelry shop…
It never really occurred to her why she kept on meeting him in the most unanticipated times and places. The first two times she can consider as pure happenstances, but when she started seeing more of him, that notion was quickly erased and replaced. Replaced with the thought that somehow-in some strange, supernatural way-they were fated to get to know each other.
So far, though, all that’s been happening are numerous (unforeseen) meetings, and of the one-sided nature, too. Because admittedly, she thinks that she’s the only one who keeps on seeing him. That pretty much contradicts what she thought to be the main reason. Perhaps they were just fated to give each other familiar faces despite crossing paths every now and then. Nothing more.
Arriving at that conclusion, a wave of shame suddenly washes over her as she recalls feeling a little jealous when she saw him and his girlfriend together. She also felt embarrassed thinking about how it would be like to be his significant other. She had been quite slow to realize such things but she was glad to have done so anyway, albeit the lateness and foolishness she felt.
She shivers a little when the sea breeze came in contact with her skin. Sensing that she has spent more than enough time wandering and contemplating, she takes one last look at the blue-green waters, imprints the image in her mind and turns to leave.
It’s like retracing her footsteps with every step she takes.
What she isn’t aware of is that instead of going back, she is-in a way-going forward.
- =:+:= -
He gives in to the strong desire of stopping by the beach.
He was on his way to his girlfriend’s apartment and getting there meant he had to pass by the beach. Not once has the place tempted him so strongly like it did now. Usually he would only acknowledge its presence and then avert his eyes back to the road (it would be dangerous not to). This time, the call of the beach was too strong to resist that he felt compelled to pull over and spend a little time there.
He parks his motorbike near a lamp post, sending an SMS message to his girlfriend afterwards to inform her that he might be late for a few minutes. Once his bike was secured, he made his way down a flight of stairs on the farthest corner to his right to get to the beach.
Ambling leisurely (almost lazily) as if he has all the time in the world, he recalled the times back in junior and senior high school when he would go to the beach with six or seven friends. From morning until the afternoon they would submerge themselves in the water, usually holding small contests on who could swim the fastest or who could hold their breath the longest. Then they would happily eat a potluck lunch underneath the shady palm trees. After having one last swim or taking a short nap, they would go home with tanned skin, huge smiles, and plenty of nice memories.
It certainly felt nostalgic, now that he thought about it.
He wanders along the shoreline, scanning the vastness of the sea stretching out before him. He isn’t that surprised to find the place deserted; not everyone has the luxury to just abandon their responsibilities and set foot in the nearest beach. Besides, even if they do have free time at hand, this is going to be the very last place they'd think of visiting.
Speaking of free time, it almost slipped his mind that he’s taken more than a few minutes already. Even if he told his girlfriend beforehand that he was going to be late, it was still rude to keep her waiting.
Right on cue, his mobile phone started vibrating. Reaching inside his jeans’ right pocket, he flipped open his phone and answered the call. His girlfriend asks him of his whereabouts and what was taking him so long. He tells her that he is on his way and was about to head back to his bike when a pair of sandals caught his eye.
He was sure he spotted no one when he came to the beach. But the existence of the sandals prove otherwise as if mocking him that he either did not look hard enough, or that his eyesight is weakening and needs to have them checked. Phone still pressed lightly against his ear but with his attention focused on something else, he finds himself approaching the shoes before he could stop himself or realize what he’s doing. They called out to him as if telling him that they mattered more at this moment.
Completely forgetting that he was still on the line with his girlfriend, he closes his phone and gets on one knee as if to inspect the realness of the sandals. The moment he laid his eyes on them, he dared not blink for fear of them disappearing. Or worse: affirming his guess that his eyesight is weakening.
But who do they belong to? They look quite new, not something carelessly forgotten by their owner as he previously thought.
He reaches out to touch them as if to test their realness. The sandals moved a little at the contact but did not fall.
He decides to go and look for the owner. But as soon as he took the sandals and stood up to do just that, he was stopped by the sight of her a few meters away from him.
The young woman's surprise mirrored his own. As he stares unbelievingly at her, he begins to question his original purpose for coming to the beach. Was it really just a strong impulse on his part, or were there supernatural forces involved that influenced his urge?
Whatever it was, no matter what answer he chose, he would still end up meeting her.
“Yours, I think.” He started after a minute or two of contemplation, offering the sandals to her after he snapped out from his train of thought. She looked like she wanted to retrieve her shoes from him but was far too shy to speak up-which was odd, because she had the right to do that to begin with.
Closing the remaining distance between them, she smiles and says a soft “Thank you” in return. Their fingers brush lightly against each other when she got her shoes back.
They remain standing there, the silence reigning over them proving to be not the least bit uncomfortable or awkward. The only sounds that can be heard are the waves crashing against the rocks from a distance, roaring loudly at first and then dying down afterwards. Time ceased moving, and though no words are further exchanged, there is one common thought in their minds.
-
It’s not about grasping every hand to see which one fits best.
It’s all about feeling a few seconds of eternity with just one glance.
-
“Finally.”
Fin
Genres: General, Introspection, Romance & Humor [both in light doses]
Rating: G
Warning: Story length.
Characters: Reita & OC
Synopsis: Attraction in an entirely new definition.
Comments: This story rooted from one question alone but took almost three months to complete. Inspirations for finishing this are never-ending rainy days and reading books written by Haruki Murakami and Banana Yoshimoto. Despite Reita somehow fitting the criteria of the male protagonist halfway through the story, I still left both parties unnamed because it felt and looked better that way. Hopefully it doesn't get confusing. And if you haven't guessed yet, yes: this is Gazette het. If that shocks you or turns you off in some way, you have my permission to faint now.
Disclaimer: They own themselves and I own myself [OCs included]. Fair enough.
Today marks the sixth death anniversary of her father.
She stands before the polished tombstone with her mother and younger sister. They are deep in prayer, each one sending wishes and expressing sentiments to their dearly departed as if he is alive and listening to them. The only difference is that they are doing it in silence, as if almost to themselves, and it nearly feels like a monologue.
An occasional rustling sound comes from the trees surrounding the area whenever a soft breeze passes by. A few birds chirp every now and then to add a little life to the somewhat gloomy atmosphere. When they were done with their prayers, they proceeded to lay out their simple offerings of fruits and flowers. Then they take their leave.
As her mother and sister walk ahead of her, she looks up at the bleak sky and all around her. Everything she sees can be summed up in three descriptions: quiet, gray and dead. Which isn’t the least bit surprising since they are in a cemetery, after all.
She stops walking when she spots a quick movement to the right out of the corner of her eye. Curiosity gets the best of her as she takes a few steps forward to find out what it can possibly be.
She finds a young man standing before a white granite tombstone. His back is to her, his hair obviously bleached because of its unnatural blonde color. He is carrying a wooden pail with white flowers in them and is immobile for the first few seconds, as if he is contemplating on what he is doing there, what he is supposed to do next. (That is what she thinks, judging from the way he stands.) Then he slowly puts down the pail to take out the flowers and proceeds to place them on the surface of the tombstone.
He does not turn around, so he doesn’t see her.
She does not see his face, so she can’t tell what he looks like.
It’s not a loss to either of them.
- =:+:= -
The rain comes down almost mercilessly.
The sudden change of weather was something unforeseen. He expected it to be sunny throughout because the sun was in its usual place in the sky this morning. Maybe he can take this as a lesson not to readily believe in weather reports.
He seeks shelter from the closest place he can find, which is the public waiting shed. He stands there along with other people who have no umbrellas, some vocally complaining about the capricious weather, others silently waiting for the rain to pass. Wiping away the droplets that managed to get on his jacket, he lightly wraps his arms around himself afterwards as he scans the darkened heavens, surveying how thick the clouds must be, wondering when the rain will stop.
Sighing softly, he turns his head to the left in hopes of finding something interesting to look at to pass the time. He only finds more rain and one or two courageous souls braving the downpour without umbrellas.
This time, he turns to his right. He finds a young woman standing at the farthest side of the shed, probably around the same age as he (or perhaps 2 or 3 years younger than him). Judging from her semi-doused appearance, she must have also been a hapless victim of the weather’s fickleness. She is rubbing her upper left arm repeatedly as if to warm it, her face showing an expression of slight annoyance. Her lips move a little every now and then. Probably she is muttering something to herself. Or perhaps she is cursing the weather. Who knows?
He doesn’t know how long he’s been looking at her. And then all of sudden he feels someone bump into his back-a clear reminder that they aren’t the only ones seeking temporary shelter from the rain. He turns around to take a look on who it could be. He finds two teenage girls give him apologetic looks, yet as soon as he turned his head away, he thought he heard sounds of what suspiciously resembled muffled giggles.
The rain finally ceased after a good five minutes of coming down hard. Grabbing the opportunity while it was there, the people from the shed started leaving one by one.
Before he does, he tries to find the young woman he’s been looking at a few minutes ago.
There is no sign of her anymore.
He goes his own way from there.
- =:+:= -
She enjoys working in this quaint little café.
Despite the pay not being high and only working part-time, she finds a sense of satisfaction doing her job as a waitress. Most people in today’s society usually evade such jobs as long as they can help it, mainly for two reasons: because the job is too lowly for their tastes or they don’t like being ordered around. And with the kind of lavish lifestyle the country has, the salary isn’t even enough to cover the costs of both the monthly rent of the apartment and one week’s worth of meals. Unless you have a better paying job or you can make ends meet, it’s either one or the other that has to be sacrificed.
Such thoughts she considered but still she handed in her résumé. Time has its ways on proving preset notions wrong. Admittedly, she stays for the pay (even if it’s not really high) and to gain some work experience. The added bonuses that make life in the workplace quite bearable are her co-workers. They’re quite the amicable bunch (as long as it’s not rush hour-tempers usually flare up faster at this point). That, and the café’s ambiance itself is soothing, reminding her very much of a warm home.
The café was also a place for her to indirectly meet and observe different kinds of people from all walks of life. She’s seen old and young people alike enter and leave the place. Some are polite, others just downright rude. Some can be funny while others can be quite sarcastic. Some left tips either as a sign of generosity or just to brag to their friends how rich they are. Others don’t even return the tray where their change and receipt are placed, and that becomes deducted from the paycheck of the unfortunate waiter or waitress who served said customers.
A co-worker taps her on the shoulder, startling her a little but turns to take a look nonetheless.
“Deliver this café mocha to Table 5, please. Thanks!”
She takes the tray handed to her and scans the area with keen eyes. The place isn’t that filled yet. Aside from the staff taking the afternoon shift, their customers consisted only of an elderly couple (seated in one of the tables in the middle), a young man drumming his fingertips on the table as if bored (the window is right next to him), and four female college students gossiping (they’re at the farthest end to her left). Being a waitress for three months tells her that this is normal. Time is slower when it's 2 o’clock in the afternoon.
Remembering what table she is to approach, she makes her way there with practiced ease. As she draws nearer, she finds the occupant of Table 5 the young man drumming his fingertips. She also notes that he has bleached blonde hair and, as if his fingertips are already sore, he stops his actions and sorts to tilting his head to gaze out the window to see if there is anything interesting happening in the streets.
She nearly stops walking when she remembers that he is the very same person she saw in the cemetery on the day of her father’s death anniversary.
Not once does he look at her when she finally reaches his table and puts down the cup in front of him.
Not once does he spare her a glance when she gives a quick but polite bow, cheerfully telling him to enjoy his coffee.
Not even once does he tear his eyes away from the window to look at who served his order.
She doesn't mind, though.
- =:+:= -
He finds it extremely odd to be standing inside a bookstore.
He has never been the patient one when it comes to books or places filled with them. He can hardly recall the last time he stepped inside one. He can’t really fathom why some people can spend endless hours hanging out in a place like this, thoroughly immersing themselves in countless books that whisk them away to other places.
Seeing things in that kind of perspective, he finds that he cannot blame them after all. People are often tired from and relentlessly beaten by realities exhausting and harsh. Through books, they find some sort of temporary distraction and release.
That still doesn’t change his mind on books being unexciting to him, though.
Manga, on the other hand, piques his interest more. That explains his presence in the manga section of the bookstore. He finds it a little comical to be the only adult present at this time, with the occasional teenagers who pass by but don’t stay long. Although unlike them, he doesn’t plan to get anything; he’s just there to look at the titles the store carries. He takes a peek every now and then at random volumes of the series he once followed. Purchasing them is certainly out of the question; they may lay forever forgotten because work demands a lot from him, and on his days off he prefers sleeping by a whole lot.
He comes across a title he’s not familiar with. Out of pure interest, he reaches out to take it from its spot on the shelf. He turns the graphic novel in hopes of finding a catchy synopsis at the back. But, he catches a sudden blur of light pink from the corner of his eye instead, and he momentarily forgets what he is about to do.
He finds a young woman in a light pink shirt (obviously the blur he caught) scanning the titles of the shoujo manga portion not far from where he stands. Unlike him, she knows exactly what she’s looking for, as if this is second nature to her. She stops at a particular spot at the top part of the shelf after a minute or two of contemplation, pulls the selected graphic novel of choice, and scrutinizes it for a while as if confirming that it’s the one she wants.
He recognizes her as the same young woman from the shed a week before.
He discretely watches her smile in satisfaction as she leaves the aisle and goes out of his sight. He stands there for a while, unmoving, blinking twice as if disbelieving what he saw.
For a moment, he thought he heard an inner voice coaxing him to go after her.
But as quickly as it appeared, the voice faded when a graphic novel suddenly fell from its place in the shelf, successfully snapping him out of his daze. He picks it up and puts it back where it belongs. Then he remembers his original task at hand and so shifts back his attention to the novel he’s had his eye on before the distraction.
He finds no reason why he should go after her.
- =:+:= -
She waits for the subway train to arrive and contemplates how its speed and movements are a lot like life’s transitions.
She checks if she is stepping beyond the colored line or not. Then she cautiously cranes her neck to the left to see if there are any signs of the train coming.
She sees none.
She breathes out a soft sigh as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and all of a sudden she finds herself humming to the tune of several children’s songs. She stops, blinks, and tries to comprehend why such things are occupying her mind-and out of the blue, to boot. There really is no reason for her to do such a thing.
Or perhaps there is-just a bit, actually. Sometimes when she remembers the rhymes or when she sings them mentally or out loud, she gets nostalgic and long for days of innocence, of youth gone by. It may be true that an individual has a lot more freedom as an adult and get to do whatever they want. Yet sometimes, dealing with a scraped knee is simpler and more preferred than facing the brutalities of everyday life.
The vacant space a few meters away from her becomes occupied, but the occupant’s identity is not her priority at the moment. She finds more importance being on the lookout for the train, trying to figure out whether it’s going to arrive now or after a few more minutes.
She spots ominous orange lights from a distance. The train has finally come.
She double checks her bag to see if it’s still closed and undamaged. Even if the station isn’t packed with people right now, it didn’t mean that thievery wasn’t rampant. One can never be too sure or relaxed.
She hears a slight cough come from the person standing on the once vacant space.
She gasped quite audibly when she saw who it was. The surprise must have been too profound for she was rendered speechless and didn’t even notice the arrival of the train despite the loud noises coming from it to make its presence known.
Slightly gaping, she watches him go inside one of the train’s compartments after the doors have opened and some of the passengers stepped out. She sees him take a seat on the nearest available space. His back is to her so all she can make out are the mass of blonde locks and the side profile of his face.
She stares intently at him that she doesn’t notice the doors closing after the time limit for loading and unloading has been reached. The train moves forward inch by inch at first, and then gradually gains speed until it zooms off and vanishes from her sight.
It dawns upon her that she’s been left behind.
Not knowing whether to be amazed or appalled on how unfocused she can get, she mentally berates herself for her previous actions. Thus, she vows to be more alert next time.
Nonetheless, she can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
- =:+:= -
Today is her day off and the weather turned out to be lovely: not too windy, not too sunny.
She takes it as a good sign and decides to go to the nearest park a few blocks away from where she lives. The park was thankfully not filled with crowds upon her arrival. However, most of the people there were with their boyfriends or girlfriends and, to her shock, blatantly making out.
Not that she finds (excessive) public displays of affection loathsome. But her purpose of going to the park was to unwind, not to watch intense lip locks and heavy petting.
Finding a somewhat desolate spot near the edge of the park’s lake, she hurriedly makes her way there. After making sure that she is nowhere near couples and in the company of a few single people (some asleep, some seated on the benches, and some staring into nothingness), she brings out a blanket from her bag and spreads it out on the grass, takes off her shoes and sits on it afterwards. Looking at the clear waters of the lake for a while, she proceeds on reading the book she brought along with her.
As she leafs through the pages and concentrates on the characters’ dialogues, her mind momentarily strays to the mental image of the mysterious, bleach blonde haired young man. She wonders what kind of person he possibly is, what he looks like when he smiles, frowns or pouts; what his voice sounds like when he talks or whispers, where he is right now and what he may be doing.
Two passersby-a young couple, obviously-catches her attention when their gleeful laughter reached her ears. Their hands are clasped tightly together as if afraid that their significant other will drift away from them if they don’t have a firm hold.
She tries to imagine what it’s like to be his girlfriend.
She tells herself to get a grip.
- =:+:= -
Dozing off was the last thing he expected to do.
At first, he was watching a few ducks sail by in the park’s lake without a care in the world. He remembers regretting a little on not bringing bread crumbs to feed them lest they come out of the water and pass by his spot. Then the cool breeze and the not-so-scorching rays of the sun made him yawn a bit as he felt himself being lulled to sleep by the tranquility of the place.
And sleep he did.
He feels a little more invigorated now that he’s awake. He sits up and takes a look at his surroundings. The number of couples making out has decreased and, in grim amusement, he surmised that they must have taken their activities to a more private place. He thinks of it as a good thing, actually, because he personally doesn’t like extreme displays of affection-in public, no less.
He scans the area some more until his eyes land on a particular person he least expected to find.
She is only a few meters away from where he is, sitting on a spread-out picnic blanket, focused on nothing but her thick paperback.
Before his mind can fully register what he saw, his phone suddenly vibrates against his thigh, startling him a little. Someone was calling.
He begrudgingly takes the phone out of his pocket to answer the call, all the while keeping his eyes on her. He mentally observes how the conversation seems to be taking so long to finish (this particular caller liked to blab away, for some reason). He finds himself getting a little impatient, which should not be the case no matter what angle he looks the situation at.
It’s like the young woman is more important right now over anything else.
He starts panicking slightly when he sees her stretching out her arms tiredly, closing the book, standing up and started folding the blanket she’s laid out. His attention has now been split in half as he tries his utmost best to concentrate on the phone call (he’s listening but only half-heartedly) and watching her retreating form at the same time.
An invisible force within urges him to go after her. Yet he remains glued to the spot, phone still pressed lightly against his ear, not really caring anymore if the person’s words at the other end of the line are reaching him or not. The sudden sense of loss has successfully captured his full attention, taking hold of his insides with a vise-like grip.
He knows that this will bother him for a day or two, even if he tells himself not to think too much about it.
And it’s funny and disturbing in a way, because one is not supposed to feel anything for a stranger.
- =:+:= -
“I’ve noticed that you seem to be on the lookout for someone else. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He turns to the voice laced with sulkiness only to see his girlfriend’s pouty expression.
He completely forgot that he was on a date with her, and feels a pang of guilt for being too absorbed with his own thoughts, for being absent-minded. It’s been a while since he last saw his significant other and his wish of spending time with her has finally been granted. But what does he do? He ends up thinking of something else instead and doesn’t confirm nor deny what his girlfriend said.
He shakes his head and apologizes sincerely. “No, I’m not hiding anything. I’m sorry if I gave that impression.”
She shoots him an annoyed glance as if to say she doesn’t believe him, but thankfully breaks out into a huge smile after a few seconds.
“You know I can never stay angry at you for long.” Tiptoeing a little, she kisses his cheek and says that she forgives him. Clinging on to his arm a little possessively for his taste, she presses closer to him as they walk down the not-so-crowded sidewalks of town.
He sighs as discretely as he can. While he can’t deny that his girlfriend is a wonderful person, he sometimes wishes that her mood swings weren’t that frequent. He may not say it vocally but this is one reason why he’s wary around women in general: he thinks he has them figured out through their moods only to see something entirely different and be proven wrong over (and over) again.
“You know,” his girlfriend starts, and he looks down to peer at her face, “when I was out shopping one time, I came across this really lovely bracelet in a jewelry shop not far from here. It’s made of fine silver, has some fancy stones in it, and my friends say it’s a perfect gift from someone you love.”
He already has an inkling where the conversation will lead to even if he doesn’t hear the entire story. However, he stays quiet and tries to look as attentive and interested as possible.
“I’ve had my eye on it for almost a month now. I told myself that if I had it, I’d be the happiest person in the world...”
She trails off, and he knows precisely that that is his cue to speak up and present his offer to get it for her.
All of a sudden he finds himself being half-dragged, half-pulled by her, who surprisingly became fully energized upon hearing his words.
Along the way, he wonders if the young woman is anything like his girlfriend.
- =:+:= -
She frequently toys with the pendant of her necklace.
She does it every time she wears necklaces. As long as they have pendants-whether big or small-one way or another, she unconsciously ends up playing with it as if her fingers have a life of their own.
She doesn’t wear accessories unless necessary. She believes that adornments are to be reserved for the grander occasions. Lately, however, she’s been wearing the necklace with the pink heart lavaliere, a present given to her by her mother when she was in her second year of high school. She likes it for its simplicity and color, and how it can go well with both casual and formal wear.
She also keeps seeing him whenever she wears it. That gives her another reason to like the trinket so much.
She fondly labels it as her lucky charm. She also gives an entirely new meaning to her fingers playing with the pendant. It’s like a magical lamp and genie combined that, when she wishes to see him, all she has to do is rub the surface of the heart and it will be the key to having it granted.
She is currently standing on the sidewalk, waiting for the “Walk” sign to blare green. She has been fumbling with the pendant for more than a minute now. When she became aware of what she was doing, that was when she caught of something from across the street.
Him.
Before she could rejoice on how lucky her necklace is, she catches a glimpse of a girl holding his hand (explaining why his arm is outstretched), leading him inside an expensive-looking jewelry shop.
She doesn’t notice the “Don’t Walk” sign go dull in color and the people beside her and from behind her start moving as fast as they can. She remains inert, trying to process what she just saw and what it means.
She slaps her forehead with her palm. She should’ve seen that one coming.
The smile on his girlfriend’s face is an obvious sign that they are a happy couple. And for some reason or another, she finds herself smiling involuntarily at the thought of him as a sweet, kind man who likes seeing his significant other happy and always wearing a delighted expression on her face.
She deems it strange to feel torn inside to find out that he is taken.
- =:+:= -
He finds himself thinking about her too much.
He tries asking himself why he allows her to plague his mind, why he constantly tries to find her in every place he goes to. No matter where he may be at-the bars he goes to at night, the busy streets during daytime, or the packed live houses he and his bandmates perform at-he’s always on the lookout in case he has another encounter with her.
So far, though, he has been unsuccessful in his endeavors, making him go as far as to believe that she is purposely eluding him. (Which is not the case, and he is aware of this. But he can’t find any other reason so he sticks to that.)
Perhaps he should try not to look for her. Then-maybe then-she will show herself.
It’s always like that, isn’t it? When you’re looking for someone so bad you’ll go to whatever lengths just to achieve your goal, they will never reveal themselves to you. But when you have either given up or don’t look for them anymore, they suddenly appear before you. And right when you least expect them to.
Life is certainly full of ironies.
Confusion, frustration and a tinge of desperation all rolled into one, he seeks advice from a close friend of his concerning this matter. Just as expected, his friend advises him to stop thinking about a person whom he doesn’t even know (except being familiar with her face).
“You have a girlfriend already. Even if she doesn’t know about this, it’s not fair to her.” His friend tells him. “And don’t think too much about those events. Look at it this way: what if you keep on seeing her only because you take the same routes or something? Your meetings can even be out of pure coincidence.
“And besides, you can’t possibly feel for someone you just keep on seeing. That’s impossible.”
He stays silent for a few minutes, allowing his friend’s words to sink into his mind (especially the last sentence). He can even hear the logical part of himself cry out in triumph because for once he is actually doing the right thing by acknowledging the advice given to him-which rang with the absolute truth.
Yet deep inside, his emotional side refuses to accept the advice. That, along with his stubbornness makes him want to stay firm with his beliefs: that this is fate, that this is something you can’t be reasonable about.
Because you don’t choose who your heart beats for sometimes.
- =:+:= -
Red roses signify passionate love.
Or so the florist told him when they were discussing what he should get for his girlfriend. Despite his awareness of roses having many colors, he never knew that they had several meanings behind them. It made his head spin a little because the act of giving flowers to your beloved was supposed to be simple-on his part, anyway. He goes to the flower shop, selects the best-looking roses, purchases them after having them wrapped nicely, and off he goes.
He humorously asks himself what rock he’s been hiding under all this time regarding this matter.
He takes a look around the place as he waits for the florist to add the finishing touches to the bouquet. Everywhere he looked there were all sorts of flowers in various conditions: mere buds, fully-bloomed, and some threatening to die any minute because they were slowly becoming sere (they were separated from the healthy ones, though).
Aside from the always-present roses, there were also orchids, daisies, carnations, lilies, and some others he isn’t familiar with. Most of them are in buckets according to type and color to allow customers to personally handpick the flowers of their choice. Some are in ready-made bouquets while others are arranged and placed in fancy vases, each one trying to outdo the other as they boasted their beauty the best way they can.
To his surprise (and amusement), he spotted a few money trees and bonsai plants for sale on a semi-secluded corner of the shop. Making sure that the florist was still busy with his task at hand, he discretely pokes the leaves of one of the bonsai plants as if to check that they’re the real thing.
Since the space inside the shop was limited, there was also a selection of flowers outside, but of a fewer variety. He finds another florist there (an elderly woman), watching over the flowers to make sure nothing happens to them.
And then he sees her.
She is outside the very shop he’s in, fawning over the flowers, looking delightedly from one bunch to the other. The florist in charge kept an eye on her as she did this. Their mouths are moving every now and then. Probably they’re discussing about what’s best to get or something along those lines.
He continues watching her until she finally settles for a bouquet of pink lilies. The elderly florist gave it to her after she was done wrapping them, accepting the payment afterwards. The young woman smells the lilies and smiles.
For that moment, he pretends that the bouquet is from him.
For that moment, he pretends that she is smiling at him.
The moment was disrupted when the florist called out to him.
Slightly disgruntled, he turns to the florist to take the bouquet. Mumbling his thanks, he hastily makes his way out of the shop but finds her nowhere to be found.
Then and there he can’t help but compare her to a rose:
only to be seen but never to be touched.
- =:+:= -
She adores lilies, especially the pink ones.
She was on her way to the supermarket when the flowers sidetracked her. Fresh and newly-bloomed, looking at them reminded her of her mother’s garden back home. She remembers how bleak-looking her apartment is so she decides to buy some in hopes of adding color to her otherwise monochrome home.
The kind old woman-apparently the florist in charge-was patient with her as she debated on whether she should buy a bouquet of pink lilies only or go for a mixed bunch. She does some small talk with the elderly woman, asking simple questions like how much a lily bouquet is, if a flower basket is costlier, et cetera.
As she listens to the old woman’s answers, she vaguely discerns a scene involving someone inside the shop poking the leaves of… something.
The small talk continued. The florist in charge was quite a sales talker for her age. After a long time of pondering, she decides to go for the lily bouquet for now. She selects the prettiest and pinkest lilies from the bucket and hands them over to the elderly woman. She watches her wrap the flowers in fancy paper and secured it with a red ribbon, then paid for it the moment she had them in her hands. She brings the flowers close to her nose and inhales their sweet, clean scent, and smiles afterwards.
She was about to leave after giving her thanks to the old woman when she catches sight of movement from the inside. She was right: there was someone, and this someone must be the person poking the particular something earlier.
Bleached blonde hair and a broad back.
She knows that it’s him even if she doesn’t take a look at his face.
It may be strange to anyone to easily identify a person without having to look at their face for confirmation, but to her it was almost like a special skill of sorts.
She suddenly remembers that she’s supposed to go to the supermarket and so gives a quick bow to the elderly woman before leaving. She needed to be early before the time service sale ended. A tray of eggs for only 10 yen and two trays of tofu for 20 yen are not an everyday occurrence.
Along the way, she reflects on her previous actions and can’t help but feel a little ridiculous. She acts as if the man is a past lover worth evading at all costs.
But maybe it has something to do with her unconscious denial of him having a girlfriend, and that forgetting about him (despite unexpectedly seeing him always) is for the best.
She’s just thankful that at least they’re strangers;
otherwise, things will be harder and more complicated.
- =:+:= -
She has always liked the sound of the waves.
Listening to them calms her mind and heart but she has never come to appreciate it until now because of a most unfortunate event that happened in the past (she almost drowned at the age of 8). Since then, she has been wary about anything related to the beach.
Somehow, over time, she was able to overcome her fear of the water but still refused to go swimming after that unpleasant experience. She is satisfied staying ashore and wading her feet in the water-no more, no less.
She is barefoot and walking near the shoreline, enjoying the feel of the soft, wet sand against the soles of her feet and in between her toes. There is no one in sight, and she feels a sense of pride knowing that she has the place all to herself.
The tranquility of the place slowly sent her into a nostalgic mood. Soon enough, memories she knew she had but somehow forgot started flashing in her mind one by one: her first day in kindergarten; the bullies she brawled with in the playground when she was in second grade; the girlish playmates she had back in fourth grade; the dog she pleaded so hard to her mother to own when she was in sixth grade; her long list of crushes from middle school up to high school.
And then, without warning, he comes into the picture.
In her mind’s eye, the memory of his bleached blonde hair, broad back, and somewhat lonely-looking side profile of his face appear as clear as water.
She is very much surprised at the 180-degree turn of her thoughts. She was innocently reminiscing at first and now all she can think about and remember is him. The way he looks, the way he moves, the way his girlfriend was dragging him inside that jewelry shop…
It never really occurred to her why she kept on meeting him in the most unanticipated times and places. The first two times she can consider as pure happenstances, but when she started seeing more of him, that notion was quickly erased and replaced. Replaced with the thought that somehow-in some strange, supernatural way-they were fated to get to know each other.
So far, though, all that’s been happening are numerous (unforeseen) meetings, and of the one-sided nature, too. Because admittedly, she thinks that she’s the only one who keeps on seeing him. That pretty much contradicts what she thought to be the main reason. Perhaps they were just fated to give each other familiar faces despite crossing paths every now and then. Nothing more.
Arriving at that conclusion, a wave of shame suddenly washes over her as she recalls feeling a little jealous when she saw him and his girlfriend together. She also felt embarrassed thinking about how it would be like to be his significant other. She had been quite slow to realize such things but she was glad to have done so anyway, albeit the lateness and foolishness she felt.
She shivers a little when the sea breeze came in contact with her skin. Sensing that she has spent more than enough time wandering and contemplating, she takes one last look at the blue-green waters, imprints the image in her mind and turns to leave.
It’s like retracing her footsteps with every step she takes.
What she isn’t aware of is that instead of going back, she is-in a way-going forward.
- =:+:= -
He gives in to the strong desire of stopping by the beach.
He was on his way to his girlfriend’s apartment and getting there meant he had to pass by the beach. Not once has the place tempted him so strongly like it did now. Usually he would only acknowledge its presence and then avert his eyes back to the road (it would be dangerous not to). This time, the call of the beach was too strong to resist that he felt compelled to pull over and spend a little time there.
He parks his motorbike near a lamp post, sending an SMS message to his girlfriend afterwards to inform her that he might be late for a few minutes. Once his bike was secured, he made his way down a flight of stairs on the farthest corner to his right to get to the beach.
Ambling leisurely (almost lazily) as if he has all the time in the world, he recalled the times back in junior and senior high school when he would go to the beach with six or seven friends. From morning until the afternoon they would submerge themselves in the water, usually holding small contests on who could swim the fastest or who could hold their breath the longest. Then they would happily eat a potluck lunch underneath the shady palm trees. After having one last swim or taking a short nap, they would go home with tanned skin, huge smiles, and plenty of nice memories.
It certainly felt nostalgic, now that he thought about it.
He wanders along the shoreline, scanning the vastness of the sea stretching out before him. He isn’t that surprised to find the place deserted; not everyone has the luxury to just abandon their responsibilities and set foot in the nearest beach. Besides, even if they do have free time at hand, this is going to be the very last place they'd think of visiting.
Speaking of free time, it almost slipped his mind that he’s taken more than a few minutes already. Even if he told his girlfriend beforehand that he was going to be late, it was still rude to keep her waiting.
Right on cue, his mobile phone started vibrating. Reaching inside his jeans’ right pocket, he flipped open his phone and answered the call. His girlfriend asks him of his whereabouts and what was taking him so long. He tells her that he is on his way and was about to head back to his bike when a pair of sandals caught his eye.
He was sure he spotted no one when he came to the beach. But the existence of the sandals prove otherwise as if mocking him that he either did not look hard enough, or that his eyesight is weakening and needs to have them checked. Phone still pressed lightly against his ear but with his attention focused on something else, he finds himself approaching the shoes before he could stop himself or realize what he’s doing. They called out to him as if telling him that they mattered more at this moment.
Completely forgetting that he was still on the line with his girlfriend, he closes his phone and gets on one knee as if to inspect the realness of the sandals. The moment he laid his eyes on them, he dared not blink for fear of them disappearing. Or worse: affirming his guess that his eyesight is weakening.
But who do they belong to? They look quite new, not something carelessly forgotten by their owner as he previously thought.
He reaches out to touch them as if to test their realness. The sandals moved a little at the contact but did not fall.
He decides to go and look for the owner. But as soon as he took the sandals and stood up to do just that, he was stopped by the sight of her a few meters away from him.
The young woman's surprise mirrored his own. As he stares unbelievingly at her, he begins to question his original purpose for coming to the beach. Was it really just a strong impulse on his part, or were there supernatural forces involved that influenced his urge?
Whatever it was, no matter what answer he chose, he would still end up meeting her.
“Yours, I think.” He started after a minute or two of contemplation, offering the sandals to her after he snapped out from his train of thought. She looked like she wanted to retrieve her shoes from him but was far too shy to speak up-which was odd, because she had the right to do that to begin with.
Closing the remaining distance between them, she smiles and says a soft “Thank you” in return. Their fingers brush lightly against each other when she got her shoes back.
They remain standing there, the silence reigning over them proving to be not the least bit uncomfortable or awkward. The only sounds that can be heard are the waves crashing against the rocks from a distance, roaring loudly at first and then dying down afterwards. Time ceased moving, and though no words are further exchanged, there is one common thought in their minds.
-
It’s not about grasping every hand to see which one fits best.
It’s all about feeling a few seconds of eternity with just one glance.
-
“Finally.”
Fin