Esme was sitting by herself on the loveseat as she sipped her tea quietly.

The tea today was certainly more exotic in taste than she was accustomed to. The earthy flavor traveled down her throat, carrying with it faint traces of a certain spice that she could not fathom nor decipher.

She was not sure whether she liked it or not.

She kept her brown eyes downcast. The garrulous chattering of voices between her grandmother and Charlotte Evenson filled the room with a noise that was irritating to her ears.

By this time already, she was a young lady of sixteen within her blooming stages that teetered between adolescence and womanhood. Her cognitive mind grew with a silent intelligence, that was driven entirely by her insatiable curiosity. And though she was coerced academically through the years by her grandmother, Esme finally found enjoyment in her studies. Not all, but at least in several subjects of history and literature. But despite the mundane propriety she has been taught, the more primal side of her was still very much alive, carefully hidden and tucked away in the recesses of her soul. She was loved, and very well provided for. But even all the security and love her grandmother gave her, it could not mask Esme's inner loneliness.

She was introduced to old Mrs. Evenson more properly this time.

Esme could hear the snatches of their conversation as she nonchalantly stirred the liquid in her cup with a silver spoon.

She was still blind. That was the fact of the matter. But, as she grew older, there were some improvements to her sight - utterly infinitesimal, but still considered precious nonetheless.

She could not see color, for everything was in a lugubrious shade of gray, but she could see shapes. Esme could make out the outlines of the furniture; any items that were placed in front of her, and on rare occasions she could faintly see light.

The people surrounding her, however, looked all the same. Amorphous, fleeting, as if they were silhouettes of phantoms.

Her attention was diverted again to the mindless chatter that was before her, when she heard her name mentioned into the conversation.

"Esme is very lovely Clementine. Very lovely indeed, If I did not know any better I would have been inclined to think she had inherited her beauty from you!" Said the elderly yet feminine voice.

"Really? Thank you my dear. The idea never occurred to my mind. I always fancied that she looked more like her mother, except for her eyes. They are most definitely of her father's." Replied Clementine, a biting note of sadness in her voice.

"Shhh, don't excite yourself now darling. Or else we will all be in tears before supper," Charlotte softly jested.

Esme heard her Grandmother laugh gently.

"Speaking of supper, where is that boy of yours? He will be joining us, will he not?" Asked Clementine.

Esme stopped her fidgeting.

Boy? What boy? There are only three of us here in the parlor.

Right?

Thought Esme to herself loudly.

She was wrong.

"Of course he will," Said Charlotte, "Won't you just look at him, hiding away together with those books. I'll call him."

Esme found herself gripping the porcelain saucer.

"Charles? Charles darling, won't you come away from those books. Don't be such a misanthropist darling. Won't you join us? Or at least make yourself useful and keep young Esme amused for a little while?"

Esme stiffened momentarily as she heard footsteps from the left corner of the room.

"He's very handsome Charlotte. Very much like his father, just look at those eyes."

"Oh yes, very much so. They've just returned abroad. Its been almost five years since Charles was home, and I've been spoiling him rotten." Charlotte remarked proudly.

"Generous is what you are Charlotte, generous to a fault." Clementine said.

"Oh hush, that boy needs to be spoiled. Living in such a humid climate, and near the forest!" The old woman's voice rose, "The people there are wild, practically savages if you ask me." She said in a condescending manner.

"Charlotte, the boy was with his parents," Reasoned Clementine.

"No! If they had a sensible mind at all, they would have left him under my care-"

The two voices of the women seemed to become nebulous, when Esme felt a movement out of the corner of her eye. There was a very tall, very dark figure looming in the short distance in front of her.

Charles Evenson walked towards the loveseat. He was a young boy of nineteen, a lovely image of masculine youth. He has black hair that was perfectly slicked back, with dark intense brows, and matching eyes the shade of Ebony.

His skin was tanned, in spite of being an Englishman, he certainly did not look like one at all.

He was very handsome, with profound features and a proud chin that resembled the profile of an old Florentine coin.

Esme felt suddenly very self-conscious as the weight in the loveseat shifted; signaling that he now was sitting beside her. She could smell a very vague, yet distinct scent of aftershave.

She bowed her head lower, hiding her face behind her restless curls.

"Hello," He says to her. His voice was oddly deep for someone so young, but his words were gently spoken.

"Hello." She responded awkwardly.

She tried to take a quick glance at his face, but all she could see was a shapeless silhouette of a man.

She found herself very uncomfortable and tense. She wanted the afternoon to be over, but she feared it was only just beginning.

Esme remained silent for the first portion of their introduction.

His lips curved into a delicate half-smile.

"What is your name?" He asked.

"Esme." She replied glumly.

"Don't you like it?"

"Like what?" She asked, not quite comprehending his second question.

"Your name? Its very beautiful." Said Charles.

A small smile crept into her lips.

She could hear him chuckle, "Ah, there it is. I've made you smile. Now, you must do me the honor of asking me for my name." He said cordially.

"Very well, what is your name?"

"Charles, Charles Evenson." He replied as he looked at her expression carefully.

"Do you like my name?"

Before she could reply he spoke again, "Go on, say my name. I want a very honest answer whether you like it or not."

Esme paused, rather uncertain at first. She was conflicted internally at how to proceed with this newly acquired interaction, from someone not far from her own age.

She composed herself with a small breath, then she said his name slowly. She felt lightly flustered at his gaze, though she could not see it. The tension within her was slowly receding. It was now being replaced by another emotion, a drumming sensation perhaps. It resembled excitement, yet she felt ludicrously bashful.

"Well?" He asked, in a tone so impatient it seemed endearing.

"I like the 'Charles'" Esme replied warily, weighing her words.

"But?" He continued for her. "Go on, tell me truthfully,"

She smiled sheepishly, her eyes still downcast, "The 'Evenson' seems like an awful mouthful to be completely frank.

He laughed this time.

"And may I inquire your last name Miss Esme?" He said, deeply amused.

Esme hesitated, but spoke again, "It's Platt, Esme Platt."

Charles chuckled a tone louder, "I'm surprised they did not remove the additional 'T' and replaced it with an 'E'!"

"Charles darling, please don't be so boisterous, I can barely hear my conversation!" Intercepted Charlotte in annoyance.

"Forgive me grandmother," Charles surrendered, still retaining the traces of his chuckle under his throat.

Esme giggled quietly beside him.

He looked at her again, "I do apologize, I hate awkward first impressions. I only meant to make you laugh. It did work did it not?"

Esme nodded lightly.

"Would you like to be friends?" He asked.

"I think I would like that very much." She replied.

"Now," Charles says, moving a little closer to her, "As friends, may I ask you question?"

"Yes."

"What is it about yourself that you think I would find surprising?"

Charles looked at the young girl before him. He found it a little strange that at this point in their conversation, she still made no eye-contact with him.

He awaited her answer, whilst raising a cup of tea to his lips.

"I lost my ability to see when I was four." She began to say, and added as if she were reading his thoughts, "If you've wondered why I have not looked at you, it was for that reason alone."

She heard him choke and cough quietly into his napkin.

"I'm terribly sorry. Please do forgive me. I did not know." Said Charles ruefully.

"Its quite alright. You have asked a very simple question, I think its most befitting I gave you a simple answer." She said softly.

There was a brief silence between.

"Where are you from?" Said Esme, after the initial shock of her revelation to Charles had worn off, "Before returning to England, I mean."

"How did you know-"

"I may be blind, but I'm certainly not deaf Mr. Charles." She answered in jest before he could finish.

"I see you do have a sense of humor," Spoke Charles as he eyed her intently, "And to answer your question, I've just returned from India."

The mystical land of India. Esme thought to herself with surpressed excitement. Her grandmother had read to her the geographical location of that country when she was fifteen.

It was a country in South Asia, bound by the Indian Ocean on the south, and the Arabian Sea on the south-west.

It was a country steeped in its own unique indigenous culture, and exotic customs. It was a land rich in tantalizing flavors, spices, landscapes, and a language befitting its origin.

"Is it really warm there as they say it is?" The moment she asked the question, she resented herself for it. She hated sounding like an ignorant child.

"I believe 'Hot' is the more appropriate term," He answered. She could feel him lean deeper into his seat, "We have what we call over there an 'Indian Summer' which ironically occurs during Autumn. Possibly one of the hottest weathers I've ever endured. But then again, when you live near the countryside, all that heat and sun seems worth it. You see, my father and I run a large tea plantation over there, he runs it of course. I oversee the plantation itself."

"It sounds lovely."

"It is. Nothing can compare to the sight of a majestic Indian sunset. I found its beauty to be so entrancing, I could no longer count the many times I would climb a tree in my earlier years just to see it in all its splendor. It was as if the whole countryside were set ablaze in this magnificent golden flame, the wild birds restless in the skies-"

Esme sat there as she listened to him. His voice was astoundingly clear, his words eager with a vivacity she did not posses. She could sense his hands gesturing with agile movement when he spoke; his mind was full of life, a tenacious vitality that drew her in like quicksand.

There was something about him that demanded attention, no matter how subtle it was in his manner. An assertive streak in his jovial character.

She decided she was going to like having him over for dinner after all.

A/N: Hello my loves! I do beg your pardon for the delayed update. Things have been a little crazy lately, and I've been going through some personal issues. But c'est la vie! I hope you guys enjoyed this one! And Hooray! We've made it to Chapter 12!

Sit tight for Chapter 13!