A/N: Finally, my semester finals are done and I can go back to updating my stories. Except they would have to be on hold for a while. No, I'm not planning to drop them. They're just on hold. Also, I'm planning to change my pen name to something more... realistic. I don't hate my name, it's just that I once had an epiphany to not publish EVERYTHING in the internet for the sake of my privacy. You can still call me Aya, it's just my pen name would be different.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
The hourly bell has rung, indicating it is already noon. A little girl of five stops from picking daisies and looks up to the clock tower.
The little hands move in a stationary motion; never slowing down, never gaining speed. Never going back, just forward.
Little girl picks up her yellow daisy and brings it up to her nose. She could hear the protective shouts of her mother to come but they were swallowed by the sudden strong whisper of the wind. The daisy's petals threaten to fall off.
Her brown eyes are still on the tower, wondering. Wondering why it does not let the hands go back. Why not look back and capture the past? Why go forward and not bother looking back?
Little girl mutters, "Those hands are cruel. Why do they keep going in one direction only?" She tears off a yellow petal and let it be taken away by the wind. Her vision follows the petal until it stops and floats on the nearby fountain, relaxing and following the soft current made by the wind.
"Because time does not work that way," a deep voice says beside her.
Little girl turns, and sees the young adult clad in pure gray, his dark eyes boring into hers. Her eyes move to his back.
Luminous like the night, yet darker and more mysterious than the stars; they are the brightest black she has ever seen.
"Then what does it do?" Her curiosity creeping up in her voice, sparkling her big brown eyes.
One side of the young man's lips turns up. An amused smirk enhances his prominent cheek bones. He goes down on one knee, his whole body facing hers. His dark pools naked, facing, looking only at her.
"Time has the power to do anything. But Time is only interested in the upcoming future. The past is the past; a time where everything has already been done. What's done is done."
Little girl tilts her head to the right, her pretty face scrunches in pure innocent confusion.
Young man warmly smiles at her. "It makes sense you don't understand. But remember one thing, okay?"
The brightness is back. "What is it? Is it a secret?"
The smile deepens. "Yes. Just keep going, okay? Don't look back. Don't wonder what would happen. Just... keep going. Like Time."
"Is that all?" A shout from her mother emerges from behind her. "My mother is calling me now. Will I see you again?"
"Yes."
"Really? Prove it."
Young man reaches behind him, his hand hidden beneath all those feathers. His face shows a quick pain but dissolves when he hands a long feather.
Little girl takes and grasps it tightly, almost afraid it would fly away and never come back. The feather is a foot long, pure black, and unbelievably soft between her fingers.
"You have a piece of me with you. Now, you'll know I'll be back." Young man straightens up and his wings flutter against the wind.
"But when?"
"Just wait. Wait and I'll be able to see you again." His long fingers rake through his dark hair.
Young man gives her one last look and smiles.
"Goodbye." With that, little girl witnesses him pumping his wings up and down and jumps. Her head instantly throws back, her eyes following the dark cloud until she could not see it anymore.
I'll wait. I'm sure of it.
"Maximum Ride! How many do I have to call out your name?" Her mother's voice full of overprotective worry. She gathers her up in her arms and takes her away.
Away to the place where she met her soulmate.
"What do you have in your hand, young lady?"
"A feather."
"Where did you get it? Throw it away this instant."
"No, it's mine. It's not yours." Her small fingers go around the feather and she clutches it to her heart.
10 years later...
A slightly refreshing lemon scent envelops the room in its grasp. Within seconds, the scent dissolves the muskiness coming from all the metal in the room.
A white goose comes in, quacking loudly, trying to find its owner. A train set chugs on forward, fake smoke coming out from its chimney.
The eyes of the portraits on the wallpapered walls stare blankly at the goose, defying the smiles on their faces. The little hands inside the grandfather clock say it's 6:30 and rays of the sun creeping in from the thin curtains confirm it.
A warm fire sizzles, burning the wood chips to black fiery coals. The fire creates shadows over the little test tubes and beakers full of colorful bubbly liquids on a wooden desk across the fireplace.
The scent is suddenly replaced by something sweeter. Sweeter like honey. The owner is certainly golden brown.
She comes in, dressed in earthly colors, and gathers the goose in her arms. Her longer brown hair is tied up in a loose ponytail, strands of her golden river framing her face gently. She smiles at the distress of the goose. She starts walking into a dark room, where the door is currently open.
On the way, she takes a lighted lantern and goes in to the room. Light brightens up the room, destroying the darkness that used to shroud it with mystery.
One's eyes would definitely go directly to the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. One would also wonder there is a person sleeping on the bed.
She lets go of the goose once she reaches a side of the bed. She kneels down and rests her head on her crossed arms. Beside the bed is a night stand. On it is a glass of water, a bottle of ink, and a feather, the end sharpened.
She reaches behind her and takes the feather. She let it gently caress her cheek, the filaments tickling her skin. An instant smile of longing lights up her face.
Instead of her fingers, she uses the feather to feel the contours of the face, the smooth skin of the face, the texture of the face. The face of the man she met years ago.
She wants to touch him herself. But she is afraid. Afraid of what would happen if she did.
She continues to stare at the man. The long dark eyelashes that used to crown the dark holes when they were open. His angular cheekbones softened in his sleep. His straight, but slightly crooked nose. The growing dark stubble on his upper lip and his cheeks. Finally his lips, thin upper lip and fuller lower lip, chapped because of the dry atmosphere.
When will he wake up? Why won't he wake up?
With one last look, she stands up and tells the goose to follow her. She reaches the living room and finds the calendar. A red X marked the box of the next day.
Will he wake up and remember me? Will he wait for me?
She goes back inside the room of the man and takes a nap.
Her head snaps up from her quick nap and her eyes immediately go to the man. The man is still sleeping, with no intention of ever waking up.
I can't wait. Please wake up.
In impulse, she stands up and goes back to the living room. She yanks the chair from the wooden desk across the fire place and sits down. Putting on her glasses, she starts to work. The train set continues to move around her, clockwise.
Words such as time, machine, and reverse stand out from her work. Can't she just wait? Will she even succeed?
Two hours later, her eyes are red but full of passion. Passion to find the key. She slumps back on her chair and let her hands fall out in the sides. She lets out a deep breath and closes her eyes.
Finally.
She lets herself daydream. She saw herself in a train. Beside her was the man, his arm around her, their hands interlocked in a passionate embrace like them.
She wakes up blushing. Warm all over. Tingling all over.
She stands up and goes back inside the room of the man. Kneeling, she takes the feather in her fingers and let it run up and down and around his face. She starts to talk to him, as if he is awake and he can listen to her.
"You know, I daydream. Of you and I. Of how we are perfect but can never be. I still hope. But I still wonder of the future. Time does not have the power to lock us out. Once in my dream, you asked me of how I felt for you. I ignored you, but my heart beat faster and I wondered if you felt the same."
She talks to him, as if his eyes are on her and hers on his. As if his heart is open and she is willing to fill it.
She knows this is her last time to see him. She wants to remember everything about him, in case she does not remember him in the future.
To end, she takes the bottle of ink and dips in the sharpened tip of the feather. Shakes off excess ink.
She takes his right arm and turns it palm up. She rolls up his sleeves until his wrist is exposed. She takes the ink-dipped feather and draws a clock on his wrist. The little hands say it is 6:30.
If you see me in the future, please call out my name.
Her farewell is quick: a peck on his cheek. A tear escapes her right eye and lands on the chest of the man. She leaves the room, looking back once, and moves away.
She passes the living room, taking two different sized gears, and descending down a pair of stairs. Down to the basement where a time machine stood in the middle.
The goose, striving to keep up with her, quacks, as if to say "Wait." She stops on her tracks and sighs. She pulls the goose while opening the door of the machine. She pushes the goose in front of her and steps in after it. With reluctance and determination, she locks the door behind her.
Like a puzzle with missing pieces, she put the gears on the incomplete parts and steps back. The only thing to do now is to pull the lever down.
Am I ready?
"I'm ready."
She pulls the lever down.
His eyes flutter open ever so slowly.
Where am I? Is that. . . her?
He sits up and pulls the blanket off him. He does not notice the drawing on his right wrist. All he could notice is the immediate brightness from outside his room.
What is it? Don't tell me it's. . .
He slings a long leg over the bed and stands up in one motion. As if sleepwalking, he follows the light.
No. No, it can't be. . .
He descends the stairs while his heart is threatening to burst out of his ribcage. He reaches the basement and sees the machine, turning. Forever turning.
He tells himself to move. Tells his feet to take a step closer. But they don't. They are stuck. He is stuck.
A tear escapes his right eye.
Why? Why can't she just wait? Why didn't she wait? Why did she go?
Future
Ding-dong.
The bell, hanged on the top of the door, rings. The golden-haired lady behind the counter looks up from her book. And stares.
A man, clad in pure gray, steps in. An aura of great mystery shrouds him. The lady tilts her head in curiosity, instinctively letting her eyes travel up and down.
He stands in front of her, an air of mystery surrounding him. "I'm here for my order," he says in a voice that exudes manliness. The lady stare at his fingers, how they could be callused and rough and still be long and graceful. She imagines for a second his hands touching her, holding her tightly, unafraid to let go.
In an attempt to hide what she is thinking, she turns her back to him and walks to the back of the store where the storage room is located. She takes the single order on a table to her left. It is a small black gift box, the size of it show that there is a precious jewelry hidden inside. Her hands shake as she grasp it. A sense of longing overwhelms her, taking over her emotions.
I want this. I wish I could have this.
But she can't. Because as her vision take in the silk ribbon tying it close to the golden ornaments all over the box's cover, she can't help but realize the truth: the man has a significant other.
She has been looking at him from afar. She has been dreaming of him coming closer to her. She has been waiting, waiting for the time that he will look at her. He was always outside, waiting outside with his horse just standing there; she could see him out from the store's window.
Once or twice they would exchange looks. Once or twice he wondered if she will ever escape her cage.
The lady comes back outside, her posture shockingly calm for a woman in distress. The man is still waiting, his eyes observing the store's products.
She hands the box to him and manages a smile. His hands reach out to take the box; their fingers touch and there is a rush of heat that travels up his arm and to his heart.
They exhange looks; her brown eyes staring up to his dark eyes. How could those eyes be so dark and yet so bright with innocence?
She could feel her face burning, reluctantly hides her hands behind her skirts, and turns her head down. All she could see now are her black boots. He stares at her for a second and thinks.
Is she. . .
Remembering her duty as a worker, she turns her head back up and releases a smile. But she doesn't look at his eyes.
"Thank you so much. Please come again." The lady gives the man a slight bow, her eyes directed on his wrists. She could see a tattoo of a clock, the hands say it's 6:30.
She turns her head back up again and she sees him smile. Pocketing the box inside his coat, he turns his back to her and steps towards the door.
"I will, Max."
She knows she will.
A/N: I was actually going to publish this Christmas day, but that became impossible because the day became hectic from then on. Also, my laptop says I have to reformat it so I wasn't able to finish it. In case you were confused, this story was based on IU's "You and I" music video. I listen to KPop, that's why. See it if you can't visualize what I was trying to describe. I highly suggest you watch it with English subtitles. HIGHLY.