Chapter 4: CHAPTER 2
Song of the chapter: On My Way ~AlanWalker
Chapter: 2
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PERSPECTIVE: Aizea - The girl that hears after dark
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At first all of this sounds no different than a simple wild wolf's howl. Then it's get's wilder - more like the enraged and aggrieved howl of a wolf that has just lost its mate. However, the tone changes soon as more and more howls join in, which first resound as sixteen separate howls and then turns into a livid cacophony that chills my bones right to the core of the marrow.
I dare not sit up, although my curiosity burns harder than the previous night - this is the daily routine. And my apprehension and curiosity - a strange combination - escalate every night, just like Andre's suspicion.
A singular howls echoes throughout the town and maybe even someway into the misty forests - Andre's cry of despair and rage. His shifter is aggrieved that I am something that he can't quite figure out, or maybe he's livid at me for distancing myself from him. Obviously he understands what I'm doing. I'm drawing myself more and more into my own cocoon of apparent solitude - actually, safety - and turning down his approaches. No girl in Zaayes would dare do that, ever. But, I know that I'm not just another 'normal' girl in Zaayes.
The strange foreboding and suspicion creeps into my veins again, and the skin-crawling howl is followed by another that rips through the sky, and even through my heart. It does shatter my heart every single night to hear him vent out the grief. But the sheer rage outweighs the grief only increases my determination to survive.
Yes. I want to survive through all of this, more than anything else, and maybe one day find some solution to this nightly terror. But, who am I? Just an exception to every rule in Zaayes.
I let out a quiet sigh, as my acquired reflexes are given way, ahead of my fear, my curiosity, my suspicion and another strangely intense feeling that coldly creeps up from the apex of my heart - I have no idea what it is - and I close the book aside, falling asleep on my stomach.
I stand facing the misty forest - the wind whistling through its misty depths calling out to me in a dangerously alluring tune. The wind is cold and it makes me shiver. I let my teeth sink into my lower lip, as I slowly raise my hands up to rub my upper arms. But, before I reach up to touch myself, he does. The warmth of his touch sends tiny sparks racing across the thin barrier of my skin and all throughout my body. I turn around, and the amber eyes - that almost glow golden - catch my hesitant gaze. They are intense, but more so than Andre's ever can be. In a different way. They glow with an overwhelming amount of love and beneath that, shine his wit, his exceptional intelligence, his devotion, his care, his bravery and all those things that I love him for. "Adelfí psychí mou", he whispers, with such adoration that I almost melt in his arms. His soft whisper echoes through the wind, as the heat from his body crosses the negligible barrier of fabrics between us and warms me up. His hands skim up and down in a regular, soothing motion on my upper arms and I feel my whole body relax. The howls have long faded away in the background, and all I hear is the soft murmur of the wind against the leaves, the steady thump pf our hearts beating in synchrony with each other, and his even breathing that in turn accelerates mine - in sweet anticipation, not apprehension. "Se agapó", he whispers again, against the shell of my ear. "What does that mean?", I whisper back, my curiosity getting the better of me. He chuckles - a silky sound that resonates through my own heart, and automatically twitches up the corners of my own lips. "All in perfect time, prinkipissa mou.", he replies softly and I pout at him. His terribly handsome grin only broadens, but the heavy air of mystery that blankets him doesn't dissipate. "Now, what does that mean?", I ask again, in yet another futile attempt to know what that endearing that he uses to address me daily, actually means. "In perfect time, in perfect time.", he murmurs back. I narrow my eyes. "So, are you ready to come along, tonight, prinkipissa?" I shake my head vehemently. He sighs. "So, it's a no again.", he whispers dejectedly. And then suddenly, his warmth begins to recede from around me. "The next night, prinkipissa mou.", he murmurs alluringly, as he darkens away from my vision.
As usual, I am the first to wake up in the morning, the remnants of the nightmare-cum-dream still lingering at the back of my eyelids, the warmth of his touch still causing the skin of my upper arms to tingle pleasantly. I try to recall his scent. It always soothes me when I am usually wary and distressed in the first hour of the morning.
He smells of rain, a bed of cosmoses, freshly fallen pine needles and... home. I know that's such a strange thing to say. How can a person smell like 'home'? And, that too some stranger from my dreams, when I am lying in my own bed at my own home. But as I am thinking it through again, it does feel odd to call this place my home. If it is indeed my home, why don't I ever fit in? Why don't I have a shifted spirit of my own too? Above all, why don't I even want to have a shifter spirit of my own and become like the rest of them? Is it because somewhere deep down, once the sun is down, I do resent them?
Oh no... Stop thinking along those tracks Aizea!, I sharply reprimand myself.
Honestly, I need to admit that reprimanding myself works better than being reprimanded by someone else. Shaking my head in order to clear my weirdly wild running thoughts, I carefully creep out from underneath my dear soft blue quilt and step out of my warm bed.
The touch of the chilly floor on my soles gives me the uncomfortable pins-and-needles sensation. I flinch slightly, before determinedly pressing my foot even harder on the ground and letting the other foot join it. I stand up shakily, and slowly, very carefully tiptoe my way to the door. I peek outside through the tiny peep-hole and when I spot no one other than the pinkish rays of the early morning sun, I open the door softly and trudge my way to the washroom.
Once inside, I lock the door, flick on the light and stare at the wide grey eyes on the mirror. The fear that I am so used to seeing in them is lesser in magnitude than the previous morning and the wayward determination that has recently started creeping it's way into its apparently disturbed depths has grown just a bit - just a bit more than yesterday morning.
I sigh. I want to survive all this mess; I really do. But I truly don't know how.
I am absolutely confused. Should I say 'yes' to the achingly handsome in my dreams? Who is he? Is he even real? What good can ever be waiting for me in those misty, dark forests?
And... What did he call me, again? 'Adelfí psychí mou'. What does that even mean? Above all, do I have any way out of... everything... if I don't take his hand? I am just going to die and waste away if I don't - and that's frankly the last thing that I want.
But, what if he is from the Land of Wudes? One of their evil forces? Can I even betray this family that has brought me up with such care and put my safety before their own?
Evelyne...? Even, Andre...?
I want to band my head against the mirror, or maybe the washbasin is a better choice. I hate this part of the morning. Facing my own reflection, my own questions and then failing to answer them.
"Aizea!", Melinda's shrill but groggy call fortunately breaks my reverie of absolute overthinking. I quickly brush my teeth, use the toilet, get freshened up and hurry out. Melinda is in a night gown and is grim and grave as she retrieves the box of cereals from a kitchen shelf. I don't even speak a word or try to make eye-contact as I take the bottle of milk out of the small refrigerator and pour the milk in a container and putting it on boil.
This is the daily drill and I know it to perfection. Don't talk with anyone in the early morning. Don't even make eye-to-eye-contact. You never know you is already standing at the tipping point and what may set them off. I don't even dare sigh in exhaustion, as I finally take the boiled milk down from the fire and holding the bowl with a kitchen-cloth, pour the milk out into the five bowls that Melinda has already arranged in a row.
Their bowls already had the cereals. But, Melinda always let me do my own things; probably because she knew that I may have my own opinion about something that I may very probably be not be able to express to them - atleast in these hours. I in fact liked this little freedom of decision for myself.
But as I pour out my cereal in my bowl that already contained the milk, my curiosity suddenly spikes up like never ever before, and I peek up from behind the curtain of my golden-brown waves of hair, at Melinda and immediately my eyes are caught by hers.
Oh NO!
What I see, makes me want to tremble and make a run for the hills.
How ironic!
Her usually soft chocolate-brown eyes are not only tinted with red, but blazing. Not blazing with anger or desperation. But with hunger. A strange strange kind of hunger, or thirst, whatever you call it, that seems to be in war with her determination - her determination to keep the promise that she had once made - the promise to keep me safe. The red also seems to be a bleed of regret and sheer thirst; and the longer this heart-shattering moment lasts, the sharper her intensely hungry or thirsty or whatever gaze , tries to pierce into my eyes... into my very soul.
I almost shudder, but actually don't. I will not fall weak. My anger always fuels my strength and my fear always fuels my anger. I was scared to death just a second back, but right now, I am livid, as a sense of betrayal seeps bitterly into every pore of my body. Why was she staring like that at me? As of she was famished and she would rather have me than the bowl of milk and cereals waiting on the table. Honestly, it was so very creepy.
I quickly pick up my bowl and fish a grab from the cutlery holder and race to my room like my very life depends on it - because I really think it does. But then I remember a rare advice that the stunning man from my dreams had once given me - Never turn your back on an animal while you decide to flee it. Turn your back on it only when you know for certain that you are all set to run so far away from its lair that it can never lay a claw on you again.
He mostly never said anything significant to me other than calling me certain endearments in some foreign language and extending his palm to me, for me to take his hand to wherever he supposed to take me. But, there were nights when he said an extra sentence or two. I recognized those as survival tips but never understood why he told those things to me.
Now, suddenly the realization dawns on me. He knows something that I don't. And, he knows that I will need to fight for survival in this place that I called home.
I set the bowl on my bed-side-table, take a deep breath, clutch the unwashed spoon tight and head out to the washing-sink. I pretend to not notice Melinda who's still standing where I last saw her and wash the spoon, feeling her gaze burn holes into my back all the while. Washing cutlery before eating is a disciplinary protocol. I do all this acting absolutely relaxed and comfortable, and then head back to my room with an impeccable mask of calm.
As I finally sit and start eating the warm and milk-soaked cereals, I start having an uneasy feeling. I feel unsafe, very very unsafe in my own home. Over everything, I don't even feel like I'm at home, and my regret to have not taken his hand last night grows more than yesterday morning.
The rest of the days flows by just as usual. I go to school. I manage to find Evelyne before she pounces to "hug" me. But then things begin going downstream, again. Andre's as-blue-as-the-sea eyes lock on me and they almost bore into my soul with the burning intensity of his suspicion. "Looks like whatever was troubling your sleep has finally left you alone, Aizea.", he says instead of the regular morning greeting. I almost stutter but quickly catch myself while answering, "Thanks, Andre. I feel better." I actually do feel better.
Yesternight, the dream lasted a bit longer. Time in my dreams and in the real world is very different. Sometimes, just a short while there stretches althroughout the night, sometimes vice versa. The first case is the more preferable case scenario for me.
I smile, and try to make my fake smile look as real as possible; and Andre thankfully falls for it, flashing me a brilliant smile of his own in return. His suspicions seem to have lessened a bit, if only just a tiny bit, and I'm grateful to whoever is up there - if there's anyone at all - for that. The less I'm suspected, the longer I get to make up my mind.
We attend the daily sermon and then head to our first class, together. Just as everyday, Evelyne approaches the seat right next to me as soon as I am seated, but a strong arm grabs the edge of the desk from behind, blocking her way. Both her and my eyes immediately skid to find Andre. His blue eyes are fixed on me, so intense with concentration and a varied array of emotions that it scares me.
Why does this day have to be getting just so much better and better, huh?
Evelyne frowns deeply, her green eyes looking at me questioningly. I shrug, mirroring her confusion.
Deep down, I probably have a feeling that I know why Andre is doing what he is doing. But, I am just too petrified to admit that.
Maybe, I am too emotional as well.
"Andre?", I question him softly, as he settles in the seat right next to me, the folded up sleeve of his uniform shirt giving way to fair, mildly tanned skin, that lightly brushes against my hand. Very tiny, almost negligible, tingles run up my skin. My stupid body can't even understand just how dangerous feeling even an ounce of draw towards Andre is, for me. I gulp soundlessly, and begin to move my hand away, when his hand grabs mine.
His hand isn't soothingly warm, like him, but a scorching hot. I don't even know why I am comparing their touches in the first place, though.
But, it is harsh! Like, really harsh. So not like Andre. I wince slightly, before looking up into a pair of scorching blue eyes, which right now resemble a blazing summer sky infinitely more than the cool sea.
My heart skips a beat, but not in the good way.
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Chapter 5: CHAPTER 3
Song of the Chapter: Helium ~Siaa
Chapter: 3
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PERSPECTIVE: Aizea - The girl that hears after dark
*******
His grip gradually loosens, but it feels like it takes forever. The intensity of his scorching gaze almost draws me in and for the long long moment I feel bare - as if my soul has been left out in the open, for his horribly perceptive gaze to scan it through.
"I never noticed just how soft your skin feels under my touch.", he murmurs with a husky lilt in his voice that makes me want to tremble. But I hold on strong - my reactions frozen and my gaze meeting his, steadily. I still fail to respond.
"Aizea?", Andre asks, his gaze finally loosing the scorching intensity that made me more apprehensive than excited, and brimming with scrutiny and concern. But I don't miss out the undertone of sharp suspicion. Why does all hell head towards breaking loose today only? "What?", I ask softly - almost meekly - hiding the anxiety in my voice.
He clears his throat, squares his shoulders and when his glowing orbs focus on me, they are clear with resolution. Trouble, trouble, trouble. I blink, subtly encouraging him to talk.
"I want you to come out with me tomorrow. It's an holiday, you know. We can hang out a bit after the weekly gathering."
Although, he doesn't say more, I know that he wants me to attend this week's weekly gathering, so that I certainly don't miss the announcement of his coronation. I'm not sure, though, if I really want to witness either of the announcement or the coronation first-hand; but, irrespective of what I want, I know that I have to.
And, when I have no option to not attend the events, why should I not want to 'hang out' with Andre? More than anything, he is indeed one of my two closest friends.
However, an alarmed voice from within some locked depths of my subconscious advises me to say no. Honestly, I don't want to say no to Andre, yet again. Not with how his clear blue eyes look at me beseechingly, right now, with piercing intensity.
I nod and Andre's face breaks into a smile that can win a hundred hearts and dazzle the morning sun. I can't help smiling back.
Afterall, I do love him, even if only as a really good friend and not in some romantic way.
"Then, see you after tomorrow's gathering.", he says softly, the hardness in his eyes finally vanishing totally as he lifts my hand up to his lips and places a soft kiss at the centre of my palm. It makes me feel a bit flattered - no one has ever expressed such a gesture to me; of course, not counting my dreams.
Althroughout the rest of the school hours, he keeps touching my hand every now and then.
At first I had an almost giddy feeling thinking that he was probably checking if I and the 'yes' after all the 'no's were real. But, as my eyes coincidentally meet his, during the lunch hours, I notice that that's not the case.
He wants to reassure himself that he is winning and soon enough, his shifter will get what it needs, or maybe, wants so bad.
As I hold Sheroa's hand today and walk back home, I turn around to spot a smug expression on Andre's face, that makes me feel thoroughly objectified.
I am no trophy to be won in a tug-of-war of wills!
Moreover, if his smug shifter thinks that it is winning or something, well, it's just too wrong. I would never love the shifter whose howls rip the peace of the night into shreds. I can only ever love Andre - the jovial, charming, caring friend with sparkly blue eyes that take after the deep ocean.
I just have no idea how it can ever be practically possible to carry out this 'love' in real life when I hate these shifting monsters just so much.
And, here, I admit it!
As I step in through the door, I am haunted by the memory of Melinda's look from this morning. Unknowingly, I swallow and immediately feel the warmth of Sheroa's posture right next to me. I turn to look at him warily. To my great relief and joy, inspite of the slight reddish tiny in his dark eyes, he looks thoroughly sober.
I am guessing that even his shifter is pretty much sober.
"What is it, dear?", he asks me, his voice naturally gentle with paternal affection.
At first I decide against telling him about Melinda and my eerie interaction - eye-to-eye interaction - in the morning. But, as I deliberate it further, some subdued voice from within me tells me that I should probably let him know.
"Actually, umm... I don't exactly know how I should put it, but, this morning, I had a weird off-moment with Melinda err... Mom.", I rush through the words, stuttering twice, almost expecting Sheroa to ask me to elucidate further. But he doesn't.
His brows crease into a worried frown, as if studying me - trying to see through me, and for the first time in my seventeen years of life, my father's any gesture is giving me a queer feeling in the spine. What a great day to have all the weirdest (scariest) firsts!
Sheroa lightly clears his throat before saying in a tight voice, "You should follow the etiquettes, dear. Without exception." I nod.
As Sheroa heads towards their common bedroom, that has its doors closed with Melinda and my brothers inside, probably studying, I suddenly decide to tell him about Andre's offer too.
"Andre asked me out.", I almost exclaim, yet somehow manage to keep my voice quiet.
Sheroa turns around and almost smiles saying, "Again?", but then he notices the shaky and slightly guilt-ridden expression on my face and freezes.
He spins around to completely face me. "You didn't agree, did you?" His voice sounds so pensive that it multiplies my guilt my leaps and bounds. "I did.", I whisper meekly, and he looks as if he had just been stricken by a stray bolt of lightning.
"That's not true.", he states quietly and incredulously, as if trying to make himself belive that I didn't.
I didn't commit a crime by finally agreeing to spend some time with Andre, for once. Its not like I am starting to see him every day now on and this is the inception. I just didn't want to see the thoroughly dejected look that darkens his handsome face every single time I say no.
I know it's a risky - no, strike that out, very very very risky - thing to do, but how much downhill can it possibly go? Seven- eight hours with Andre doesn't sound that bad, anyway.
"Have you lost your mind?", Sheroa anything but roars and I want to flinch, but I don't. I won't.
"I didn't want to turn him down, yet again.", I reply, sounding a little more confident that before and infinitely less confident than I irreasonably feel.
Sheroa's face morphs into a mask of disgust and anger, the concern vanishing.
"I should've known. I should've known that I could never get one of them belong to our land and our family. No matter how hard I try. How could their tendency of going against the norms not flow in this girl's veins?!", he exclaims in pure rage, before storming into their room and slamming the door behind. I hear a muffled shout of "Do as you like!", from that side of the door.
I stand rooted on the spot - frozen. I am shocked beyond explanation, and tears of anguish roll down my cheeks. I have never felt so rejected and dejected in my whole life.
There we go! Those two words. Rejected and dejected.
If Andre has ever felt this level of anguish owing to any action or word or gesture of whatever of mine, I am all the more determined to go out with him tomorrow - if only to atleast try to make it up to him for once.
The tears continue to scald my cheeks, rolling singularly down, tracing a wet, hot path and very certainly leaving behind salty-stains. I slowly walk to my room, dinner being the last thought on my completely shaken mind.
After changing, I don't even bother freshening up or even locking the door, for that matter. Looks like my sense of self-preservation is slowly evaporating.
I am on the verge of plopping down into the comfort of the bed, when I hear three discreet knocks on the open door.
Chorsh.
I force an affectionate smile onto my face. Another person that I really love, no matter what.
Despite being two years younger than me, Chorsh tends to be really understanding and this is not the first time that he's here to support me through something tough. He's always been the brother in need, the brother indeed.
I slowly sit down on the edge of the bed and I don't have to gesture to him twice, as he takes his seat right beside me. It's almost dark and the reddish hue in his clear brown eyes is more prominent than I am used to seeing. So, I don't protest when he keeps the distance of a few feet between us.
"He just got a bit too mad.", he begins saying whatever he is here to say, his voice sounding a little heavier than normal. "But, believe me when I say this Aizoo, he really loves you a lot. I don't know what this great secret is, but he'll do absolutely anything to make sure that it's never leaked. He just wants you safe, that's all. And for some reason, he is extremely sure that spending time with Andre is the most unsafe thing for you to be doing. Honestly, he doesn't even want you spending time with any of us after sunset. I'm here, talking with you, only because mamma is successfully calming him down, there."
Our eyes meet and I see a film of tears above the love beneath. Bit, something else lurks beneath that too. Hunger. The same as Melinda's from this morning. But I decide to pretend to not notice that.
He had once advised me, "The ignorant are often spared when the aware are not."
I don't know why I always follow his advices whenever a question of basic survival arises. Maybe because I don't quite trust anyone else on that deep a level.
I smile at my brother. I don't know what kind of monsters all of them have within themselves, but I love the rest of them.
"Thanks a lot for your words, Chorsh." And I really mean it. I just needed to hear this. This reassurance that my father does love and care for me after all.
Chorsh leaves and I ditch dinner, locking the door and window and for once tucking myself to bed. I even leave out the mandatory bed-time book. I am in a hurry tonight. In a hurry to fall asleep before the noises begin. I am not sure I'll be able to spend the day with Andre after hearing him tonight.
For an odd moment, I wonder what his howl would sound like tonight.
But over everything, I am in a haste to meet him. I need him after all the mess that has been this day.
****
I am standing in the same place as everyday. The wind whirls through the dark misty depths of the forest and around the thick and talk moss-covered tree-trunks. It's whistle thickens till it sounds a bit haunting, and then it weaves an enchanting spell, almost dragging me into its net of sense-less enchantment. I even begin considering what it would feel like to just let go and let this enchantment wrap me in its intricate folds.
But, then I feel his touch at the base of my neck and realize that I had closed my eyes. I let them fly open and the sight of his crisp white shirt - the fabric stretching into a smooth perfection over his sculpted body. I follow the line of the perfectly done buttons, along his neck, his sharp jawline, romanesque nose to his shining amber eyes.
This is why amber is undoubtedly my favourite colour.
They glow like embers, and are fiercely gorgeous. They are alight with love, determination, rage, anguish, devotion, longing and so many more emotions that swirl together in the brilliant amber, beyond my interpretation capacities.
I study his absolutely perfect features which define perfection, and wonder who or what he is. He is just too perfect to be a random person. He has to be something Divine.
He takes my hands in his, the alarm in his eyes and his touch raising goosebumps all over my skin.
"Why won't you come with me, se agapó? You think that I can possibly be more dangerous than these people you live with? Tell me, can you yourself imagine anything or anyone more dangerous?", he asks, his velvety cadence dripping with the urgency of an ultimate emergency.
His eyes are pained. I am slowly cracking, till the floodgates finally open completely.
"I don't know. I don't know who you are. I don't know what those endearments that you call me, mean. I don't know what lies on the other side of this forest and these mountains. I don't know how to love and hate my friends and family, at the same time. I don't even understand how serious a threat I am under, there. I don't know what you are leading me into. I don't know anything! Nothing at all!"
I end in an exasperated scream. I want to know all of it, and I know none of it.
His gaze softens and the emergency vanishes from his touch and gaze. He sighs. "The answer to all these questions of yours lie where I am all-too-willing to take you."
I hate this. I hate how he speaks in such short and such explosive sentences!
"And where is that?", I ask, withdrawing my hands out of his.
"Home."
Did I just imagine that or did he actually say that out loud? I examine his face and his oh-so-kissable lips, to double-check. His eyes follow mine and the corners of the said lips quirk up into a I-know-you-more-than-you-know-yourself smirk.
I quickly look away.
Ughh! Kissable, really? Where did that even come from?!
"What did you say?", I ask him. He gives me a sad smile in response and I know that he actually said that. But...
Before I can say anything more, he slowly starts dissolving away into the air. I want to scream - Don't!
I have so many questions. So many questions that no one but him will ever possibly answer. And, I have to admit this, that I've started to feel this strange tug in my heart whenever I'm around him. A tug that I never feel around anyone else.
But by the time I almost decide to tell him this, I can no longer see him and then the soothing darkness of a dreamless sleep has sucked me within.
****
"Stay safe, my sweet girl.", the soft murmur that bounces around inside my head, brings me out of the last traces of sleep and I groggily open my eyes, cringing slightly when the bright light falls on them.
It's late and I can bet that I have never slept this late in my whole life. I jump up on the bed and then straight out on the floor.
Sheroa, who was previously sitting near my pillow on the edge of the bed, is now standing and laughing real loud.
"Relax, Aizea!", Melinda says from the doorway and I notice that she's standing there with clear brown eyes, her head reclined sideways on the doorframe.
"What time is it?", I ask urgently, as I move to rapidly pick my towel, lingeries and a pink floral printed summer-dress - my best and thus the one that I always wear to the weekend gatherings, from the closet.
"It's just a little past seven-thirty. It's alright. We won't be late.", Sheroa, having finally recovered from the solid laughter-session, says, trying to comfort me, but instead freaking me out all the more.
"Seven-thirty! Oh no!", I exclaim in a horrified whisper, as I sprint to the washroom. I hear their amused laughter from the other side of the washroom door.
I have had a nice night's sleep after quite a few days - all thanks to him - and the traces of the night's peace is visible on my face. My eyes are clear and so is my sleep-nourished skin.
I brush my teeth in record time, take a quick bath, wash my hair with the fruit-flavoured hair-wash, and then start towel-drying my hair vigorously. It takes a while, and then I get dressed quickly. I towel dry my hair further, till it's almost totally dry.
I race to my room and run the comb through the tangles, getting irritated out of my mind at how frequently it gets stuck.
"Breakfast is ready, children!", Melinda calls out. I smile at how exceptional the weekends are. This was the one day of the week when we could forget the morning norms - because they were only valid till about six or so in the morning, and we never usually wake up before seven on the weekend day.
I grab a hair-tie from the dressing counter and run to the breakfast table. No cereals.
Delicious sandwiches with chicken filling, instead. Beautiful.
As I dig into the breakfast, I can't help but think about the day that I am about to spend with Andre. Finally.
However, the biggest question is - shall I mourn or rejoice?
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