Citrus
Netherlands/Indonesia
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Her eyes were a mist of wonder, enveloped in an endless soft silk wrapped in a beautiful mask of jewels. He always finds himself turning into a lost lonesome fox within the forest of her beauty. Her soft skin glows under the gleaming sun changing it into a blinding yet soft feast to the eyes. Her crispy voice sings along with the church bells, blessing her with a tune that echoes under the wind's whisper.
She was perfect.
He knew, oh damn right he does, that he's being a hyperbolic man. Probably overrating her 'slave-like' beauty. The days he spent with her, they say, are wasteful. There was absolutely no right for a budak to walk alongside her master.
No.
That was not true.
"Shinta," he calls. Wishing silently for the goddess' blessing within the night. How he wanted her ... such a beautiful mortal to be united with his love.
She turns to him. Hair swept by the cold breeze on the shore. He loves her hair, and she knows that he loves her scent the most. It was a mixture of ancient herbs and freshly squeezed citrus. Truth be told, he was quite glad. The girl loved his gift, a citrus scented shampoo, and seems to be wearing it every day.
"What is it, Mr. Johanssen?" she asks quietly. A switch turns on inside him, which clicks automatically whenever someone (as close and beautiful as her) calls him so formally. He was tired of reminding her. It was the 1,876th time she called him by that name, and not simply 'Lars'.
"You look beautiful as you would every night," he murmurs under his breath just as a gust of wind blows between their -2 meter distance. He hopes Neptune would be so kindly as to deliver that innocent message.
She giggles. It was soft and smooth. A sound that resonates and sends a quick chill down his spine. It was a direct respond to his prayers in the night.
"Terima kasih, Pak Johanssen. You don't have to say that every time we meet," her reply was warm and inviting. It was hard for him not to chuckle lightly under his breath. The miracles she brings him seemed endless. As much as he loves to spend more time with her, he knew she had business to take care of. It was a gut feeling. But true nonetheless. It always happens every time she calls him to aid her side immediately.
He takes a drag on his pipe, a loyal friend of his that accompanies him in every journey.
"So, what did you want to talk about so late in the evening?"
She looks doubtful. A minute too long for those dark gleaming eyes. She gazed downwards, allowing a sinful silence to overwhelm them, keeping him anxious and curious. She suddenly grabbed his hand, slowly bringing it up to her chest-level but her gaze was dull.
"Mr. Johanssen," she calls him the 1,878th time. "I'm sorry."
His lips frowned, registering the words into his brain cells. He takes a deep breath and inhales, sipping the sweet sensation from his pipe. Calming down, he replies almost too quickly. "Why apologize, Shinta?"
But she still didn't look at him.
"I must go tonight, Pak," she looks into his worry-filled eyes. "My siblings are very weary till this day and I must take care of them immediately."
He swallows a large lump in his throat. Restraining himself from falling down on his knees and weaken a long lost access to his waters. No, he should not fall. Not right now, not in front of her. He lets the pipe go, a soft clatter resounds against the cold wooden floor. She takes a small step backwards. A surprised look on her face.
With a swift move, he wraps his arms around her. Sharing their body warmth in the cold night. He inhales her scent deeply. Fresh citrus calming his sudden emotions down.
She gasps lightly at the touch. A jolt of emotions drives her pacing heart faster. He sighs, "Go if you must, Shinta. I have no objections."
Her small arms cradles his back lovingly. A smile creeps up her soft sun-kissed face.
"Dank je wel, Lars."
He lets her go. Leaving her touch lingering on the tip of his fingers. She bids a farewell, all the while picking up his lonely pipe on the floor. He smiles warmly and gives her a last pat to the head. She smiles at him and left a sweet 'selamat tinggal' right before she descends those small stairs.
His heart shatters, leaving an empty room reserved for her heart. No matter, he thought to himself, for he was sure that she will surely come back. He takes another drag on his pipe. He silently prays for her safety deep within his heart. He leaves another message to the wind.
"Vergeet niet ... Shinta
Ik zal altijd van je houden."
A/N: A friend requested me to make this. Will probably be a two-shot, but it depends. Used one of Anatopist's 435 prompts from dA. Happy New Year everyone, here's my gift to you :)