For everyone who's had that impermanent someone subtly waltz into their life one day and make everything better, even if it didn't last forever :)Reviews always appreciated!
It was summer.
A comfortable silence permeated the modest studio apartment, save for the low humming of the wooden ceiling fan overhead.
At the glass table overlooking large, full-length bay windows sat a young lady with her head rested on her folded arms, locks of platinum blond hair spilling over onto the table like calm waves gently washing over quartz sand below. An assortment of items scattered on the table peeked out from beneath the sleek blond- a black Moleskin and singular fountain pen at the corner of her right elbow, a sleek black cellphone at another end, and a collection of scraps of paper and other ephemera carelessly wedged under a paperweight in front of where her head currently lay.
Her undulating silhouette with every breath drawn in and out fell into step with the soft rhythm of the spinning blades above, creating a soporific atmosphere of more languor than ease. The curtains framing the windows fluttered lightly in the breeze stirred up as the day's forgiving sunlight bathed the apartment's drowsy inhabitant in its glow.
Natalya was about to traverse the boundaries between this world and the one of dreams when the all-too-familiar tune of Chopin's Etude Opus 25, No. 11 in A minor suddenly rang out.
Every note punctuated the stillness with an acrid sharpness her lethargy simply could not drown out, and each succeeding note succeeded in dragging her further and further back to the reality she was ultimately fettered to.
Disgruntled, she let the piece reach around the halfway mark before purposefully rousing herself from her sluggish state. Dainty, well-manicured fingers curled around the offending object and slid across the touch screen a tad too forcefully.
"Yes."
There wasn't even a need to look at the caller ID. Only one person would call her in the middle of the day.
"Natalya, ma chérie! You didn't forget about our meeting tomorrow, did you? I was worried since you didn't reply to any of my love letters!"
"No." Natalya was a woman of few words, all the more so with dandy characters who called text messages 'love letters'.
"'No' as in you didn't forget? Or you didn't get my-"
The abrupt rousing from her sleep had put the girl in a bad mood, and she cut him off with a harsh sigh that could rival winter winds.
"9am at Sugar & Spice right? I'll be there, Francis."
Before her agent had a chance to reply, Natalya silenced the device.
The phone clattered heavily to the table as a grumpy Natalya released another sigh. She leaned against the back of her chair and attempted to appease the headache she could feel coming on with pre-emptive rubs of her temple.
Her gaze fell upon the view outside her window. Summer wasn't quite in full swing yet, so the weather was a nice in-between that offered the pleasant temperatures of late spring with the welcoming warmth of early summer. The potted pink and blue hydrangeas soaking up the sunlight brightened her mood a little, even if they were the only ones in full bloom. It appeared as though the zinnias and petunias had not quite reached their peak, and she attributed the absence of her African lilies blooming to the lack of rain over the past week.
Natalya had tried watering them but to no avail. And she was worried of root rot.
She made the mistake of glancing over at the large calendar on the wall, which instantly snapped her out of her brief flower reverie and flung her off the deep end again.
June 23. Already.
She felt her jaw tense, the unsettling frustration seizing her once more. No wonder even Francis was worried. Groaning, Natalya dropped her head onto the table and shut her eyes tightly, almost as if she hoped the very action could cut her off from the world and all her worries.
Francis was easy to spot amongst the morning crowd at the cafe.
It wasn't just his colourful, distinct fashion or the glow of his flawless skin that made him stand out from the dreary caffeine-deprived mob- there was something about the man and his demeanour that simply radiated elegance and charm, so much so that nobody would ever guess his occupation to be something as boring as an agent.
Sugar & Spice was the local cafe a stone's throw away from Natalya's residence, and was typically her location of choice for meet-ups with Francis because one, it was close by, two, it wasn't too crowded, and three, they served darned good pancakes. At 9 in the morning, the morning crowd was already dying down and consisted mainly of office workers and college students waiting to get their energy brews to go. Most of the seats in the cafe were unoccupied save for a couple of tourists and other regulars Natalya recognised.
Francis had already made himself at home at one of the small marble-top tables near the counter when Natalya walked in, his chin cradled in one hand and fingers hooked around the handle of a hot mug of coffee. He burst into a smile at the sight of her, just as the appetising aroma of freshly-brewed coffee filled her nostrils.
"Ah, bonjour, ma chérie!" The man chirped and waved his favourite (and most troublesome) author over, iridescent silky balloon sleeves fluttering as he did so.
Francis' enthusiasm was unfortunately only met with a pained smile on Natalya's face.
She slid into the chair opposite Francis.
"It's about my book, isn't it." The words felt like rough, jagged rocks tumbling off her tongue.
Entirely unfazed by her lacklustre response, Francis let his smile melt into one that conveyed a twinge of sympathy. "Well, honey, you haven't been putting out content for a while, and I'm concerned about your career."
Natalya was well aware that it was probably Francis' company breathing down his back and pushing him about her lack of progress. Money-grubbing assholes, she criticised inwardly. Having known the man since the start of her career as an author, she knew that Francis was a kind soul, and would never rush her for projects or treat her as a cash cow. Their first encounter had been completely by chance- both of them had happened to be in the same bookstore when he'd overheard her desperately trying to negotiate a contract with a then-potential agent on the line. He took an interest in the girl who looked a bit too young to be an author, she passed him her manuscript, and the rest was history. Since then, Natalya had published two novels with moderate success in the span of their 3-year partnership, just enough to not get terminated.
Yet.
"I'm just a little… stuck." She spat the last word out begrudgingly, then drank a mouthful of hot tea as if to dissolve the lump in her throat. "Everything I write comes out robotic and vapid and so...so lifeless."
The bell tinkled as two young adults strolled into the cafe, one appearing dapper with his stylishly side-parted hair and leather oxfords, and the other more flamboyant in a kaleidoscopic bomber jacket paired with oversized thick-frame glasses perched on his nose. The unique duo seemed to be engaged in a somewhat intense discussion as they made their way over to join the queue at the counter, oblivious to the attention they were attracting.
Francis noticed the almost imperceptible strain in the girl's voice and felt his heart give a little squeeze. She was only a child- at least in his eyes she was. At that age where uncertainty and disorientation ran rife, giving free rein to the tossing waves of the sea to wash one up on whatever uninhabited island somewhere.
He gave a wry smile. She reminded him of himself in more ways than one.
"You don't have to push it, love." Francis lifted the cup of mocha to his lips and felt its warmth spread across his face. "It's just a suggestion they had. You know I'd fight them if they dared propose anything ridiculous," he started, careful with his diction as Natalya's eyes narrowed further, "but I think there's no harm in trying what they said this time."
Natalya frowned. "...And they said?"
"W-e-l-l, uh," Francis performed some routine stirring motions with his stirrer so he could avoid her gaze slightly, "they wanted you to maybe try a different genre-"
"Action." Natalya nodded pensively. It did make sense, exploring a new genre could help get her cogwheels turning, and an action thriller, while not exactly up her alley, wasn't exactly out of the question. She could probably handle it, after all, it did bear similar elements with murder mystery-
"Romance."
There was the unceremonious thud of a knee banging against the underside of the table, and some of Natalya's earl grey sloshed over the edge of the cup and marred the white surface with its ugly splotches.
Setting his cup down a little unsteadily, Francis offered the girl a sheepish smile.
For what felt like a protracted period of time, the only sound filling the air between them was the background buzz of customers in the cafe punctuated by the slightly louder chatter of the two college guys nearby.
"Why Natalya, don't put on that sour face! You're a beautiful young lady blooming in your twenties!" Francis chuckled and tried to lighten the mood. "The way I see it," he began slowly, "It's not a bad thing. They aren't exactly asking you to publish a romance novel, but attempt to write one."
"And exactly what difference does that make?"
"A big one." Francis relaxed his tightly drawn lips into a more comfortable smile. "It means you can treat it like a writing exercise. Zero stakes, zero pressure."
He felt a little guilty for that last bit. Zero stakes wasn't exactly true, per se. Her daily bread was on the line here. But Francis knew the girl couldn't work under pressure- why else would she be in her current state? If there was anything he'd learnt from his younger days, it was that creativity flowed best in the absence of stress, and inspiration struck in the most uncanny of times.
Natalya was no idiot of course, and she understood the hidden premise in Francis' statement. If she messed up, it was back to business school for her. And then a lifetime of running in the hamster wheel that was her family business.
Snippets of the two college boys' conversation grew audible as the queue shortened and they drew nearer to the table Francis and Natalya were seated at.
"-wait what do you mean class could be at 9? Prof's gonna kill us!"
"I mean it could be at 9 and it could also be at 10, but honestly, I can't remember dude."
The one with the side part all but flipped out. "Then don't tell me it starts at 10, you blimming idiot! Jesus why are we still ordering coffee at-"
"Why not? Don't get your panties in a bunch." His friend simply grinned and coolly surveyed the drink options. "I'm just gonna take the chance it starts at 10."
Something about that last sentence, and the way it was said with such nonchalance and unfounded confidence (or perhaps, an utter lack of regard for the potential consequences mixed with blind stupidity) stirred something within Natalya. It continued echoing in her mind even after the two students had grabbed their beverages and left the premise, her eyes trailing after the amusing scene of one frazzled at the prospect of being late and the other merrily enjoying his coffee as he ambled behind his friend.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Why not take that chance?
Natalya was sure that she was going to regret this. She sighed.
"Is there a deadline?"