The darkness behind her eyes gives way to light. Waking up is like rising toward the surface of the water after diving to the bottom of the pool, that first breath reinvigorating. Birds sing outside her window and sunlight falls in through her blinds, its shadows covering her like a striped blanket. A glance at her phone lets her know it's nine in the morning on the last Friday of March, the forecast predicting clear skies. That's fine and all, but Maka can't help but feel like this is the first time it hasn't been cloudy in months, like something about today is different than it could have been. A part of her longs to hear the pitter-patter of a kitten trotting her way to meow in her ear until she gets up. But that doesn't make sense – Maka has never had a cat.
Downstairs, Papa greets her with his signature obnoxious, wide grin and chocolate chip pancakes complete with strawberries, bananas, and syrup. He presses a kiss on her forehead before leaving for the station, Maka stiffening at first but relaxing against the familiar touch. Love is unconditional like that, after all. She doesn't need to compartmentalize it, suffocate it, or rationalize it – despite his flaws, she loves him, and that's that.
She walks the same path to school that she always takes. Everyday is the same, and yet… a whisper in her soul tells her yesterday wasn't what she thinks it was. Maybe it involved fighting under the moonlight and saying goodbye to friends, but that doesn't make sense either, because Maka was home reading last night until her papa came home from work and they said goodnight. She couldn't put the book down until reading the last word: In a world ravished by Kishin, there was a loophole to Death's Heir's last act: if the Scouts die protecting each other, they earn a second chance in the life they were leading, though they may not have any recollections of it and will have to find each other again.
No wonder it feels like Maka woke up from a long dream, like she's still walking through an alternative reality. She must have been dreaming about the book.
Passing by the arcade sends goosebumps down Maka's arms despite having only been in there once. A quick detour inside to walkthrough of its aisles inspires inexplicable nostalgia, its flashing lights and star-patterned carpet endearing. Ever since her best friend met a girl at the laser tag game, all Maka has heard from Kim are giggly, smitten rants about how cool Jackie is, how fierce, how cute. All three of them are supposed to hang out at the pizzeria next weekend, and –
Someone calls out to her as she steps into the sunlight, heading down the sidewalk to continue her walk to school. "Hey – is this yours?"
It takes Maka's brain seconds to register that the voice is addressing her. Turning, she meets the gaze of a boy with hair so white it reminds her of snow. A heart-shaped necklace hangs from his outstretched hand; Maka instinctively reaches for her neck, fingers grasping for a piece of costume jewelry she doesn't remember ever having.
"Oh, thanks," she breathes. While she can't remember ever seeing it before, she knows it's hers and takes it. They don't touch, but in her mind it's like something clicks, the moment tender, shy, especially as he offers a small dimpled smile. "You're the best, thanks!"
And with that, she's off again, running this time because she's late, so late, and she's nothing if punctual. She almost drops the necklace in her haste, remembering, somehow, that her papa gave this to her because love is real, and love is patient. Love means pausing mid-stride to listen to a hum beneath her skin telling her meeting this boy wasn't a coincidence. Love means having the courage to keep her heart open despite witnessing how her mama suffered, how her papa cheated. Love means not being able to decide, at that moment, if she should stay and talk to this boy or if she should go.
And yet, despite all of this, Maka turns around to ask him if he hangs around the arcade often, because she finds she always has time for new friends even if she's going to be late to school.
But he's already turned around, looking at her first. She returns his grin, the stuttering of her heart telling her to lean into the moment, to accept that love is patient and slow.
"I'm Soul," he offers, hand rubbing the back of his neck.
Oh, she thinks, a blush watercoloring her face, what a perfect name.
END