Valentine's Day
New-York, Central Park.
Darkness had invaded New-York City, only the lights of the street lamps illuminated the park. Only one window had still its lights on, all the other buildings' lights were switched off. The light emanated from a teen's bedroom, the teen was lying on the floor, his eyes were closed, his arm covered his face, he was listening to the music, rocked by Morrison's voice. One hour went by, then another and another. Still no movements. Morrison was now singing ''The End''. The boy's lips moved slowly, he whispered '' this is the end, my only friend the end.'' Then with more confidence he began singing a bit more loudly, he rose end circled his arms around his legs and buried his face in his arms.
''Father? Yes, son. I want to kill you.'' The music raced.
The teen shivered, spasms and sobs prevented him from breathing. He did not manage to calm down; tears were now running down his cheeks. When he finally stopped crying, the lights enlightened his face, he had dark hair and stunningly grey eyes, which were red and puffy, his features were fine and regular. Some might say that he looked like a girl with his fragile body; but something in his gaze, maybe the flaw of determination that shined in his eyes, would contradict them.
14th February. Strange date. He had wanted so bad this day to come and now all his dreams had disappeared along with the girl he loved. He had woken up this morning happy and carefree, ready to welcome Leah who should arrive at ten am at La Guardia airport. He was there one hour before, he had bought flowers, the ones she loved: wisterias. They reminded him of their travel together when they had walked for days chit-chatting, believing in the future, enjoying the presence of the other. He wanted to see her, to hear her laugh, to take her in his arms. He looked for her for hours but she never came. Leah wasn't at La Guardia on that 14th of February and he was now alone in his room. A 17 year old teen with stunningly grey eyes.
8 years later. New-York, Manhattan.
Sirius Black exited from the building. His work-day had been hard and he now wished to go home, to take shower and then to slide in his bed. A young woman ran after him 'Sirius, wait for me please.'' He stopped, wondering what she wanted. She reached for him, her cheekbones were red and she was out of breath. Sirius looked at her, amused. ''what's so important, Astrid?'' She blushed a bit more. Sirius was now intrigued. '' What's up?'' he asked gently. Astrid being more confident dared to say '' Tomorrow it's the 14th ''. Sirius stared at her, his smile had vanished. ''And?''
''I would like to know if you'd accept to spend the day with me''
Sirius did not answer immediately; in fact it took him a long time before she heard the answer she had hoped for now two years. But her expectations weren't realized. Sirius responded but not the way she wanted. His voice was slow, cold and he carefully chose his words.
'' I'm sorry Astrid, I like you but I do not want to be with you. It's not your fault, it's mine. I should not have acted and been so close to you knowing perfectly well that what you wanted from me and what you felt for me wasn't what I felt for you.''
Astrid felt the tears which burnt her eyes, she locked her gaze into his, into his grey eyes, the ones she had always hoped would one day shine with love for her, and they told her that Sirius was really sorry. But at that precise moment, she did not care; she did not want his pity. She turned on her heels.
Sirius didn't call her back, he wasn't sad. His heart had frozen a long time ago.
He directed to his flat. He switched on the music and collapsed in a couch.
Morrison's voice, ''The End''.
He took the only picture he had in his flat and looked at the woman who was smiling at him. It was her with her red hair, with her lips he so desperately wanted to kiss. But she had evaporated. He fell asleep. When he awoke, there was a wisteria on the table with three words ''Paris, Tour Eiffel''. Sirius felt his heart jump in his chest. He couldn't breathe; he had recognized Leah's handwriting.
14th of February. Paris, Tour Eiffel
Sirius had arrived six hours before; he had booked a room in a hotel near the Trocadero. He left his luggage in his room and went to the Tour Eiffel; he looked for the young woman. He did not know what to seek. He hadn't seen her in 8 years. What did she look like now? He brooded over the mown, appreciating the beauty of the French capital. Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him, a woman's voice called his name. He turned. Leah was there, running towards him. Her long red hair flew behind her. She hadn't changed, her smile was still so bright. Sirius' heart seemed to lose, with Leah's vision, all the harshness he had accumulated during all those years. The brick walls that protected his heart from other injuries collapsed. He ran also and took Leah in his arms, tears of joy in his eyes. It was the most beautiful Valentine's Day present she could have ever offered him: her return