The Promise
You fool.
Such is the haunting refrain in Quistis' mind.
These words exhale with cruel locomotion and plunge her into uncharted waters of remorse.
Once upon a time, she used to think that she was a decent human being. She was convinced that she could instill her upright values into others. She modeled integrity to her colleagues and showed humility to her fans. She was a magnanimous spirit to her friends and gave the benefit of the doubt to strangers.
Most precious of all, she gave her mind, body, and soul to the one who eventually became her lover.
Nobody, not even Quistis herself, ever expected Seifer Almasy to fit that role!
And he was wonderful to her, absolutely wonderful…
Once upon a time, there was no ordinance in the world that could stop his glorious love for her. He danced barefoot with her in fields of barley as summer rain soaked them both to the bone. He never hesitated to fight off terrifying monsters for her—literal and figurative. He handed her his deepest and darkest wounds in a delicately-wrapped box as he trembled at what she would think of him.
He looked up to her. He trusted her without question. To the world she may have been one person, but to him she was the world.
But she destroyed the foundation of their relationship.
She railed at him, tore him down, and pushed him away.
Her heart grew hardened. Her love grew weathered. Exhausted and discontent beyond fixing. Empty and restless beyond help.
She gave Seifer every good reason to hate her.
She does not deserve him.
(She has never deserved him.)
She misses him so much that she has barely slept or eaten for the past three months.
(Has it only been three months…?)
If she goes on like this, she will surely die, and people will assume that she will have perished from an unfortunate combination of overwork and malnutrition. Nobody will be privy to her lovelorn tragedy and its ugly details.
(Heartache would be the real reason for her hypothetical death.)
Not all of her friends know that he was the one who walked away, the one who could not take it anymore.
Even fewer friends are aware of the fact that she cries herself to sleep every night, wishing she could undo every black disgrace, her agony inlaid, her pain searing.
Giving her love (that she did not have enough of) to this man (who did not want it anymore).
She is more alone than ever before.
Back when she held the coveted title of Seifer Almasy's Girlfriend, she learned that Valentine's Day is his favorite holiday. She teased him for his choice and trivialized it as nothing more than a marketing ploy for desserts and flowers encased in cloying strokes of pinks and reds.
He told her to stop being so skeptical. He begged her to simply enjoy the romance.
She gave in. She always did. In the honeymoon phase, every answer was yes and every declaration was made to outlast worldly obstacles.
In fact, the nineteen-year-old lovebirds made a pact together: a script that oozed with hearts and professed a love most powerful.
She still knows it by heart. He faithfully memorized his version, too.
"I, Quistis Trepe, will give love a second chance if I ever get into a serious fight with Seifer Almasy or if either one of us feels that our relationship is in danger. I promise to reunite with Seifer on Valentine's Day at the Deling City Concert Hall for the late night show so that we can kiss and make up because we belong together forever."
She had raised her eyebrows at the logic of these words. He had stuck his tongue out at her for what was an obvious lack of imagination and flexibility on her part.
Hypothetically, let's say that we get into a fight the day after Valentine's Day. We'd have to wait an entire YEAR just to speak to each other again?
You're taking this way too literally.
How else am I supposed to be taking it?
The Promise is an opportunity to meet up. It doesn't mean we gotta ignore each other till then.
Okay, but what happens if our relationship suddenly ends…?
Don't EVER say that! Just…don't, okay!?
The memory of this conversation brings her great distress. He had gotten angry at her for casually tossing out what he feared was a curse. Seifer had been right—she was (still is) cynical and pragmatic and maybe even a little cold.
She has been afraid to contact him first.
(But Valentine's Day is her only chance of recovering from this heartache, is it not?)
Although there is no guarantee that he will show up to their meeting spot post-breakup, it does not hurt for her to try.
(One last attempt.)
She needs to formally apologize to him. She needs him to accept her apology. She needs for there to be no hard feelings.
(His absence will be her guillotine confirmation that the relationship is officially over.)
She needs to know what happens next, whatever that may be, because she cannot overcome the struggle of this moment-to-moment survival.
So she finds herself going out on the night of February 14th.
The late night show at the Deling City Concert Hall is always at seven o'clock, regardless of whether it is a weeknight or a weekend. She knows this because she and Seifer religiously attended shows here with their membership passes.
The cab drops her off fifteen minutes early.
She is so nervous that she does not even notice what is wrong:
The Deling City Concert Hall has apparently shuttered its doors.
Sure, the structure still exists, but the interior looks like it has been repurposed into a posh nighttime lounge for the arts.
This discovery feels ominous, as if the physical environment is indicating to her that there is no hope left for her and Seifer.
The Promise clearly specifies the place, and the place has vanished, so…
The reunion is off?
Then she remembers, quite painfully, all the hours she spent getting ready. How she fussed and fretted over her hair and her makeup and her outfit.
Even with the laborious effort, she cannot hide how thin and frail she has grown, but this is the best that she is able to do and it took everything in her to achieve it…
She has made it this far. She has to keep going. She has to find out what awaits her at the end of this story.
She steps inside of the venue.
A darkened, celestial environment greets her, as if she is floating in outer space. There is a giant moon hanging in the center of the lounge and couples are slow-dancing in its lunar radiance to a folk rendition of a four-movement symphony.
If Seifer is truly here, how would she even begin to locate him in this crowd?
The only thing she can do while waiting is to blend in with the rest of the art connoisseurs.
She is unable to concentrate on the experience. The colors, the composition. The names of the artists. Their biographies in tiny serif print. The explanations of the art installations—what they are inspired by, the biodegradability of the materials, the greater implications for humankind. These things are interesting, yes…
But she is not here for any of that.
How much longer can she bide for time?
As she reluctantly finishes her solo art tour, she has yet to encounter anyone resembling Seifer in the labyrinth of exhibits.
She is back in the main section of the lounge now.
Misfortune finds her with sudden turbulence.
Her vision is blurring!
Her hands are shaking!
Her stomach is churning!
This is no new sensation. Her physical condition has been in the pits for a while. She has learned that she is not the type of girl who can handle a breakup with maturity. Neither is she the type of girl who can flourish independently—not anymore, not after she gave her heart to Seifer. What good is it to excel in the classroom and bring honor in the battlefield if she is not resilient in the humble matters of love and relationships?
She desperately needs to go home and lie down until she recovers from her weakened state.
It is just as well that she has a legitimate reason to leave the venue. There is no dignity in waiting around for someone who is unlikely to appear at this point. She is silently grateful for the anonymity of the darkness and relieved that none of the patrons seemed to have noticed her.
Truth be told, she is not one to be noticed these days. It was not until Seifer left her that she realized how much of her beauty came from his bright and burning soul. Looking at herself in the mirror now is a jolting reminder of what she has lost. Parts of her soul are permanently devastated and she does not know how to put herself back together.
There is a lull in the music, a sonic void in between songs. For a brief moment she hears the intimate murmurs of people and the clinking of their wine glasses.
And then she picks up on a voice behind her: an sensory impression that is at once gruff and gentle.
"Sweetheart…"
There is only one who has ever called her that.
She turns around, careful not to pivot too fast, for she is feeling remarkably faint.
He is mostly hidden in shadows but she would recognize that handsome silhouette anywhere.
As Seifer steps closer, she is alarmed to see that he is as ailing and enervated as her.
The dullness of his eyes, pierced only by the wetness of tears. His face, not nearly as clean-shaven as it once was. No smirk to try her patience. No prickly words at the ready. An aura that speaks of unimaginable pain.
"Seifer…"
Her voice sounds as broken as he looks.
This is not what she was expecting.
He should be stronger, more confident. He is supposed to be better off without her. Without her holding him back, he can become the person he has always wanted to be. She thought that she was the only one languishing in loneliness and abandonment. How is it possible that a similar fate has befallen him?
The only explanation is that she was wrong. Even now, she is still wrong. Her mind is so convinced of Seifer's "hatred" toward her that she is in disbelief at the clear evidence in front of her.
His large, comforting hands find her own. He stills her quaking with a single touch.
She gathers up the courage to speak.
"I'm sorry."
Though her oft-rehearsed apology sounds pitifully crass, the anticipation behind it is enough to send tears coursing down her face.
"I'm sorry, too."
He dries her cheeks with the handkerchief that she gifted him for their 100-day anniversary.
Her eyes are a soft and sincere plea.
"Will you forgive me?"
He gazes down at her. His eyes hold a secret, and what a beautiful secret it is:
"You should know that I never stopped loving you."
His response is pure indulgence. It sends shivers down her spine. This is exactly what she has been missing and exactly what she cannot live without. Gravity will always pull her back to him.
People have always assumed that she is the one who smooths the rough edges of his personality, but they could not be more wrong.
She is the one who needs his warmth. She is the one who needs his honesty.
He is her lodestone. He is her lodestar.
He kisses her tenderly on the lips and she receives every bit of his touch.
"Dance with me, Sweetheart."
Now is her opportunity to appreciate this man in the gracious way that he deserves—more than deserves.
"It would be my honor to dance with you, Seifer."
She engages in less of a dance and more of an embrace.
(She still feels ill, but he is holding her perfectly, and she does not want to ruin the moment.)
This dance is a true expression of her apology, a barometer of her heart opening up to him.
(The universe around her begins to dissolve.)
He is here and he is hers again.
(The moon is dimming and the stars are winking out of existence.)
Everything ceases to matter except for the one who has come back to her.
(She blacks out.)
Quistis wakes up in a confused yet peaceful state of mind.
The sunlight pouring in through the windows is literally blinding. She brings a hand over her eyes and blinks several times until her vision can adjust to her surroundings.
She realizes that she is comfortably in Seifer's bed wearing her pajamas that she left behind at his condo three months ago.
Not only that, there are touches of her everywhere in his room. It is as if the breakup never happened!
She recalls Valentine's Day—The Promise—and leaps out of bed anxiously, excitedly.
She runs into the kitchen because that is where she knows he will be.
On the other side of the counter, he grins at her, freshly shaven.
He is expertly folding crêpes. They are her favorite kind: ricotta with honey, walnuts, and a hint of rosewater. He used to tease her, saying that she was a high-maintenance girlfriend when it came to being fed and nourished, when in reality she simply liked the fact that he would make something just for her.
"Morning, Sweetheart," he chuckles. "Feeling better?"
She rubs her eyes and groans. "Seifer, what happened…?"
"While we were dancing," he says with a delighted smirk, "you fainted in my arms."
"What!?"
"It's a good thing we were right next to the hospital. Doc had to give you an emergency vitamin infusion."
"I don't remember fainting," she says with a blush. "I am so embarrassed right now!"
"No time to be embarrassed." His tone turns lightly reprimanding. "Now eat up 'cause you're way too skinny!"
Thoughtful presents are waiting for her at the dining table: a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses, a decorative biscuit tin of imported dark chocolates, and a T-Rexaur plushie hugging a plump heart with the words 'I LOVE YOU' sewn on.
She starts to sniffle in a fresh wave of emotion.
"What's wrong!?" he demands, rushing over to attend to her.
"Can I have a do-over?" she wails softly. "It wasn't the Valentine's Day that you wanted. I can do better!"
He sweeps her into a cheer-up hug.
"Sweetheart, I wouldn't have had it any other way," he assures her. "Besides, we have the rest of our lives for do-overs."
Seifer kisses her on the forehead in a sign of unconditional acceptance. She feels an exhilarating head-rush as she thinks about the possibilities of their revived relationship.
As she gazes into her sweetheart's loving eyes, she finally understands the powerful depth of The Promise. Of choosing to forgive those shortcomings. Of building each other up in faith. Of belonging together forever.
And Quistis smiles, thinking to herself, though not so critically anymore:
You fool.
The End