The circle of love

This is the first time ever I've ever posted a first draft. Happy Valentine's.

***

She was walking down the path with her head down. In a place like this, time was insubstantial, physical boundaries were a dream, and all that mattered was the presence of another person sharing your space.

He saw her from afar, noticing her light brown hair that he always liked on a woman. He walked up to her from behind and spoke to her with wavered confidence.

"Hi ... " His eyes were beaded with awe of her presence, his dilated pupils betrayed his feigned casualness. "What's a girl like you doing here?"

"Nothing."

She looked at him and smiled.

"Wanna walk with me?" he said.

"Sure."

They paced a reasonable distance. With each step, he worked up the courage to hold her hand. It took longer than both parties would have liked.

He pointed at a building that had many windows. "I used to work there," he said.

"Oh."

As his hand fell, it grazed hers, and sensing her comfort, he took it in his.

She smiled and gave him a kiss.

"Here," she said. "let me show you what it is to be loved."

He looked at his feet, feeling hot in his cheeks.

They walked on, growing familiar with each step. Occasionally, he'd pick her up and spin her around, and she'd laugh and all his troubles will go away. She's the one, he said to himself.

They walked through stormy weather, they walked through sunshine. They walked through autumn leaves and what spring had in mind. Sometimes she'd keep quiet, sometimes he'd talk back. Sometimes the both of them thought that it was all a drag.

"I think I need to walk alone," she would whisper, and he'd fall back, giving her the space she needed.

Still, they'd walk together, and he'd catch up again.

"Hey there," he'd smile, and she'd do the same.

Both of them would continue on this journey, until she'd fall behind, little by little, and finally halt to a stop at a crossing. He'd look back and say, "Aren't you coming?"

She would stare at the crossroads, and then she would look at him. "I'm afraid not."

"Please," he'd say. "Don't go."

"I'm sorry," and she would walk on, leaving them both to walk their own paths.

Why? he'd often wonder. We were meant for each other. He would walk, and walk, and not find an answer. He would try to be strong, wondering if he'd done anything wrong. Was it something he lacked? Should he have doubled back?

He walked on, and suddenly from behind, someone called out to him.

"Hi," a blonde girl, beady eyed, said to him. He still preferred brunettes. "Watcha doin?"

"Nothing."

They walked together for a distance before she pushed him onto the side walk.

"Look! There's a nice dress," she'd say as she pointed at a store's window. As her hands fell, she would brush against his, and take his hand.

He smiled. She deserves to know the meaning of joy.

"Here," he said. "Let me show you happiness." She blushed.

They walked together, sharing stories and hugs and kisses. They reached a street where the junctures linked to a spot in the ground.

She looked back and asked, "Aren't you coming?"

He looked at her and understood. He saw the whole picture now. "I have to go now. You'll be fine."

"Please," she said. "Don't go."

He knew that his departure was the only way for her to realise the circle of love. He would have loved to stay.

"I'm sorry," he said, as he turned onto another path.

Tears streaked her face, and she looked at her feet and remained on her journey. She doesn't know it yet, but it wouldn't be long before footsteps followed her, and she'd hear someone say:

"Hi."

A ghost story

Another fiction piece. It makes my job easier if you read this alone in the dark. Do let me know if you enjoyed it!

***

This is not a ghost story. I merely played an extra in this tale. At least that's what I try to believe. In reality, I keep my eyes open at night, hoping 'she' never took an interest in me. Every time I wait for sleep, I try to dismiss the thought of it being in the room with me, staring from the corner of my bed.

***

There is a certain joy found in doing what you love. Time passes by quicker—those holding vocations on either end of the happiness spectrum will concur with Einstein's relativity theory—and you take up tasks that other people shun, in my instance, proofreading. One night, after finishing my third bout of editing, I looked up at the clock to see both its hands almost aligned upwards.

Great.

I have a pretty wild imagination, so when I finally realised my solitude, everything took on a sinister tinge. The copier looked as though it was staring at me. The air-conditioner hummed far louder than I would have liked, and the lights seemed dimmer than their proposed wattages.

I already had the office keys in hand when I stood beside the light switches. I remember a picture of Muhammad Ali I saw once. He was younger, his hair squarer, his left arm extended out in a jab, and below him, a caption. It read: I'm so fast, last night when I was turning off the lights, I hit the switch and was in bed before the room was dark.

I hit the switch and I floated like a butterfly, stung like a bee. Within what felt like two seconds, the doors were locked and I was waiting for the elevator. That was phase one. Phase two involved leaving the building. I was on the eighth floor, so that meant a reasonable amount of elevator commute. I stepped in the elevator and shifted uneasily from one foot to another as it made its descent.

Then it stopped.

I was at the seventh floor, and the doors opened, leaving me to look out into the darkness, the only hint of light coming from the outline of the stairwell door. I felt a sudden shiver, and in that moment, learned the true definition of eerie. The doors closed and I sighed with relief. A sudden mixture of jasmine and death accompanied my next breath.

The lift made its way down again. The temperature seemed to have dropped a little. I took out my phone as a comfort gesture. Not that it would have helped. There was no reception. I scrolled around in the menu as the lift descended. It stopped again on the third floor.

Not again damn it.

I was pressing the close button before the doors even opened.

Someone was standing outside. Finally. No more twilight zone for me. He stood aside as he stretched out his hand to hold the door, and smiled at that general direction. I knew he wasn't smiling at me because I was cowering behind the buttons. Then he came in, made eye contact with me, and said, "Weird hour, huh?"

I didn't know what he meant, so I just smiled. I tried to ride through the awkwardness by feigning interest in my phone. But three floors was a long time to spend in curiosity, so I broke the silence.

"So... what are you doing here this late?"

"Oh, it's year end for most companies, right? So it's when we have the most work," he said.

As we walked to the car park, I learned that he worked late most days. It was part of his job. I didn't ask where he stayed, what industry he was in, and the most important question, who the hell was he smiling at?

***

It was a month before I saw him again. He was loitering around the parking lot after work. He had eye bags you could fit a month's worth of clothes into.

"Hey," I said. "Where have you been?"

He looked around to see if anyone was listening. Then, "You. It's you."

"Yeah, me! How you doing?"

"I'm leaving this place. I'm quitting soon."

"What? Why?"

He started in a hush, "I went out with the guys on sixth floor."

"The law firm? Wait, I don't get it. So you're quitting because..."

"I went out with them. I did. She was there. I went up to find my friend after work. We walked in the elevator, she was there."

"Who?" A slight tingle in my spine.

"See? I knew it. You didn't see her, did you? My friend didn't see her too. Acted like nobody was around. But she was there."

"Wait, chill. You saw a woman when we first met?"

He looked at me, contemplating if he should go on. "I'm not crazy."

"It's not what I'm saying, but dude, what lady?"

"You just have to believe me. She was behind him, just staring at me. Staring from over his shoulder. She was there. I saw her."

"Okay, and you're resigning because of this... thing?"

"We reached the ground floor, we were walking to the car. I thought she'd ride the elevator back up... but she stuck her hand out, and started walking out. Following me. She was following me. I ran. I ran to my car. Just went home, left my friend behind."

"Okay dude, you're freaking me out."

He lit a cigarette as he stared into space. "I can't stay home, but I don't wanna work here anymore," he said through an exhale of smoke. "I'm saving up. Going away as far as I can."

He took another drag. His lips started to quiver. "But the real fucked up thing... the real fucked up part is... sometimes I see her—it, outside my house. I never see her in the elevator anymore."

I've heard enough. It was time to take my leave. My skin vibrated like a tuning fork. "Well, I gotta go. Um... you take care. Don't think so much, alright?" I was already walking to my car.

Whether or not he murmured farewells or breathed a shuddered whine, I'll never know. The last image I had of him was his eyes staring into space, as curls of burnt tobacco swirled out of the ember of ashes that grew as long as fake fingernails.

I never saw him since.

Six months later, the incident lost its urgency and started slipping into the back of my mind. But one night, I found myself working late again.

The lift stopped again. On the seventh floor. I stared out into the darkness and my previous definition of eerie compounded with interest. Jasmine and death mingled in the air. I smelled this before. As I looked for the close button, a horror overtook me as the numbers lit up one by one. I rammed through the closing doors, not caring if I'd lose a limb at that point. I shoved the stairwell door and ran down, four steps at a time, hoping that my legs sought purchase instead of me ending up with a broken ankle.

I made it home that night, but I never managed to shake it off. Unlike my previous acquaintance, I wasn't able to see her, and until today, whenever I turn off my lights at night, I wonder if it really followed me home, or if I was just an extra in this tale.