Author's Notes: Thank you to all the reviewers of the previous chapter ! I hope you all enjoy this chapter as well.

Echoes Of The Past

Benign, Beguiled

New York was alive during the night. From the window overlooking the city, one could see far beyond. The lights from the infrastructures resembled pieces of lighted puzzles, like stars but in countless colors, amusing and beautiful in the darkness. Nightlife is always so inspirited, so rejuvenating, so energized...and yet, so fake. How many only dared to reveal their true selves in the dark? How many of them are trying to find solitude and inner peace, hiding from their inner demons through painted masks? How many of them danced to the loud music in order to drown out the small voices that whisper from their guilty conscience? How many of them are pieces of the big puzzle, lost and desperately trying to find salvation or any tinge of hope in this world?

And how many of them still believe they could?

In the faint light, the make-up could not cover the wrinkles now lining her once smooth face. She still looked younger than her actual age, and that didn't cost cheap. Her blood-sucking therapists and dermatologists take credit for that. Thank God for Botox. But the jagged cracks started presenting themselves again just a few months after. She was getting old, and she was getting old fast.

Was it the pressure from corrupted politicians who wanted a raise in their "collections"? The stubborn owner of that old tractor factory? The heavy and endless contracts she had to read through? The stress or rather, the lack of stress, from her personal life? The ruckus by the workers she had to 'dispose' every now and then?

Hardly.

It was only in rare times like this that she could actually sit back and be alone with her thoughts for a moment. And the rarer it happened, the better. Her closed eyes ensnared her to a place in memory lane that she has always pushed back in the deepest hollows of her mind...wanting to forget and move on. But as much as she prefers to have selective amnesia, it always comes back, haunting her like unrelenting phantoms of the past.

"Yo."

A boy of sixteen years of age walked up to her, his wavy hair barely touching his ear slightly bounced at his every step. He was tall, six-feet tall to be precise, with a slender yet muscular built and a smile that had unarmed all the girls at their school.

She was just fifteen back then, a junior in high school. She was a little thin, of average height, but pretty in her pale porcelain-like skin, shoulder length hair and stunning brown eyes. She was actually attractive, but there was something distinctly different in her that separated her from rest. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself or they way she walked on, acting as if you were non-existent, or perchance, it was her disguised fear, not wanting to be discovered. But whatever it was, did not actually make her a popular object of affection.

Contrary to outward appearance, Kaede did not try to be place herself on the pedestal. Sure, she was rich, okay, extremely wealthy. However, despite her parents' upbringing, training her to recognize their superiority over the other less-fortunate beings in their stuck-up world and hammering into her head that no one was trustworthy except family, that when worse comes to worst, only family would be left to stand by each other, she honestly did wanted to believe otherwise.

But she wasn't used to asking people for help, much less asking them to like her. Her mother would have scoffed at her for the mere thought of such a silly idea. Much as she wished to join in cliques' group bonding and incessant rumor sharing, her pride got in the way. Behind her masked confidence and self-sufficiency, she also had her share of insecurities and uncertainties. She was after all, going through the adjustment phase like all the other teenagers who were desperately trying to maintain their constantly fluctuating hormone equilibrium.

Along with all the other girls in her school, she of course, had a huge crush on the handsome Danjuro.

She wondered if the most popular, sought-after Senior in the school was actually talking to her or was the late night studying making her hallucinate, creating a mirage in broad daylight? She wanted to pinch herself, but caught herself just in time, retaining her cold facial expression and without uttering a word, squinted at him skeptically.

"Can I walk you to class?" he asked. Every word was dripping with honey-like sweetness, as he brushed his fingers through his golden hair. He exuded an aura of confidence and almost-godlike perfection. The way he carried the conversation with ease was contagious. Was it his undeniably strong sex appeal or that musky cologne he wears? She couldn't exactly put her finger on it, but she felt her lifelong-built walls of defense crumbling one by one into fine powder then.

She had nodded a yes. He smiled widely, pumping his fist in the air as a sign of victory.

At this, she just couldn't help but secretly smile back.

It was the very beginning of an episode in her life that she would change her forever.

Slowly, Danjuro helped Kaede out of her shell. He had opened her eyes to the magnificence of life, how special it would be to be shared with someone else. He had made her realize that beatiful things need not be expensive or bought, for that matter. He showed her the real world, not the hopelessly rotting hell her parents had created in her head.

In a month's time, Kaede and Danjuro had officially become a couple. She was the envy of every girl in school, for Danjuro was everyone's dream guy. But he was hers, he promised her that. It was all she ever wanted. For once, she didn't feel like the rich, straight A-student, detested outcast that she was. For the first time, she felt accepted, and loved.

She was going to surprise Danjuro by cooking a batch of fudge caramel brownies and his favorite chocolate crinkles. She had never even bothered entering the kitchen before, but for him, she spent the week baking, burning food and baking again. It wasn't easy and their French chef had been extra-patient even when you could have almost traced the smoke coming out of his ears and almost heard him muttering profanities in their language.

But she persevered through that experience with valuable lessons in tow. Baking soda and baking powder and two very different things with the same first name. When the recipe says 450 Celsius, it does not mean the same as 450 Fahrenheit. Salt and sugar do look alike but their tastes contrast greatly. Last and most important of all, never pull out a tray of freshly baked, extremely hot fudge brownies with your bare hands when you have forgotten to wear the mittens because of sheer excitement. All these end in disaster.

In the spur of the moment, she had also written him a poem (even with recently burnt fingers). She was never good with speaking and she was too shy to express it. So she decided to tell him in the best way she knew how. Poetry. Yes, it was a talent she never showed anyone, even when she had already collected quite a lot of it in journals. They fall into countless categories of almost everything under the sun. But her favorites were, of course, about the fantasy of falling in love.

One Smile

Smile like you used to smile before.

Smile and I won't say anything more.

It's your smile that wipes away my tears.

Your smile that makes my fears disappear.

Smile and my knees instantly give way.

Just smile and hear me softly say—

It's your smile that makes my day.

Your smile that takes my doubts away.

Your smile that broke through the walls.

It's your smile, just one smile that said it all.

By the end of the week, she had made rock cookies, watery brownies, slimy whatchamacallits and black little things she couldn't even name before she managed to produce a decent batch. She had fallen on her homework and hadn't even started on all her term papers. But it was all going to be worth it. She figured, just the look of Danjuro's face as he opens her surprise would be enough to award her for all her hard effort.

It was, after all, their first month-sary.

Upon arriving at the neighborhood where the paper in her hand indicated, she rolled down the window of her chauffeur driven limousine and observed the surroundings. She looked around to look for any signs that might inform them of where they were. She read and reread the paper containing the address from the school records she had managed to snuck into just to get Danjuro's residence. But she wasn't lost, just mistaken. Artifice Avenue was every bit a slum ghetto as she thought it was a posh neighborhood.

Gathering all her courage, she walked down the street. Trash littered the sidewalks. Houses were in shambles. People were staring. She wondered what would it feel like to actually live in a place like this. Her world and his were like heaven and earth. She wondered how he would adjust to the lifestyles of the rich...or worse, how would she have to adjust to his? She shuddered inside.

Questions now darted in and out of her head, confusing her. Her mind opposed, but her heart stubbornly persisted. She decided that she didn't love Danjuro for his riches, or his car. (Though now that she thinks about it, she never did see him driving a car.) However, the thoughts of his voice as he whispered sweet nothings, the vision of his perfect smile, and the reminder of his brief warm kisses underneath the cherry trees in the park erased all of her uncertainties.

She loved him, and that was all that mattered.

And then again...

Maybe Not.