Pearl
a chance meeting
.4.6.0.
He plays guitar in front of an old bakery; the smell of pastries accompanies him as he moves his fingers over the strings in a simple melody that draws her feet to a stop before the closed guitar case lying on the cool concrete.
Sakura watches, unaware of the breath caught in her throat, entranced.
Years of experience play over his hands, blunt fingernails strumming in an effortless way that speaks a thousand words in a single note. Unruly hair, glimmering gold in the sunlight hangs over his face and obscures his eyes from view, even as he reveals bits of his soul in the song that echoes down the street with startling clarity.
Raindrops, like sparkling pearls, dot the skin below his rolled up sleeves. Slowly, they slide down to sink into the worn denim of his jeans; a veritable river as the sun disappears behind a slate gray parade of clouds. With them comes the rain; a muted drizzle that quickly grows into something more.
As other people run for the shelter that nearby awnings provide, the young woman keeps her place. In the absence of the sun; the radiant warmth, his hair fades to the shade of the moon, a silvery color that darkens with every unrelenting drop. His shirt, once white, goes sheer, revealing a multitude of scars that stretch across skin and sinewy muscle in dizzying patterns.
For every scar Sakura sees, there is another second she can't bring herself to look away.
The scent of baked bread vanishes beneath the fresh scent of rain, the people at the edges of her vision disappear amongst the droplets littering her eyelashes; amongst the chills coursing through her bones.
Unfazed, he continues to play until the very end of his song, then it dissipates in the air, and for a minute, Sakura wonders if it was ever there. But, the very evidence of it is soaked into her skin, into her very being.
He looks up, and a single eye meets her, full of meaning; a bare moment where Sakura is absolutely floored before it slips away behind a pleasant smile. She has no words as he rises to his feet, stretching his legs briefly before leaning down to gently tuck his drenched guitar into its case. Quietly, the man departs, his watery footsteps fading into the distance.
As though she has been spellbound, Sakura snaps back to herself, tossing curious glances across the faces spilling back into the street. Not one of them is the man with the guitar; the one who had gazed at her as if he couldn't understand why she had stopped.
Why she had cared.
Just as the sun emerges from behind the clouds, Sakura smiles to herself and promises to return.