The first time they met was when bees were collecting nectar from flowers and the earth becomes full of bright colours. It was in a small antique tea shop with a maximum occupancy of forty-five people. The only available chair was by the window bench, an ideal spot to read and observe people. Before sipping on her Earl Grey tea, she sat there admiring the beautifully handmade porcelain teacup painted in the Art Nouveau style. Letting out a sigh, she takes out her worn-out pocket-sized book.
Having been reading for more than two hours without taking a break for her eyes to relax, she shifted her gaze from her book to the window. Expecting to see avenues filled with steel and tires and soul-less bodies rushing aimlessly, instead, she sees a young man, staring at her book.
The aforementioned gentleman becoming aware that someone was watching him lifted his eyes. The lady still holding her book in her hands, sat paralyzed, thinking, how this interaction should be responded; and arrived at the conclusion to salute him by raising her hand and wave at him. Taken aback by the girl's endearment, he replied with a gentle smile that soothed her rigid body, waved back, and left.
Their second time meeting was in a coffeehouse. Dusting snowflakes off her clothes and placing the parasol in the umbrella rack, she noticed the cream sugar stand holding a queue line of more than fifteen people and the fact that it kept increasing while her sister was in the order line; so she scanned for the entire place for empty seats and found one, opened her book and began reading.
Anyone familiar with action books—or just about anyone who has become or becomes intoxicated with books will be able to understand how she felt when she opened to the shortest account of the life of Jesus. Reading that gospel, one is, without warning, transported to the first century and shoved in and out of multiple Jesus I AMs without pauses. That caused small beads of sweat to trickled down her face and squeeze her eyes shut, hoping that by shutting them will still the turbulent words in her head.
Already calming down, her evened breathing was interrupted by a sonorous voice that sounded unexpectedly too near that, out of reflex, her book fell to the ground.
"The apostle John goes rather fast unlike the other gospel writers, doesn't he?" Said the person sitting across her, only a coffee table between them, picking up the fallen book.
"Uh--ah... um...," she replied receiving the book, "I didn't even hear you sit down." The last sentence was muttered unconsciously, though it did not go unnoticed by the other party.
—I know, I was able to perceive that my presence went unnoticed the moment the chair made a screeching noise when I sat down and you remained unfazed.
Having been abruptly returned to her surroundings, her eyes skimmed at the queue line where her sister was, but by now she was pouring her third sugar on the coffee.
"Er... It was a pleasure meeting you."
His eyes stared at her quite longer than it should for a stranger. A gaze that transmitted an overwhelmingly affectionate look that should be reserved for lovers.
"Levi Boürgenvillea," he said, extending his hand out to her.
She blinked twice, looked to her left and right and awkwardly returned the handshake, "Violet d'Auclaír."
Looking at their hands grasped together, he looked up, smiled, and said, "Until next time, Miss d'Auclaír, either here or in heaven."
Bewildered by the eccentricity of his words, a throaty laugh escaped her lips as the sole of her shoes touched the wet pavement and the doors closing behind her.
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It is hard to forget a stranger with a singular personality, so it is no wonder she remembered his face the next day they saw each other in the bus. But something was off when she saw him, she felt as comfortable, if not more, as in the presence of one's beloved family.
"Good evening, Violet," at the sound of her name she hit that funny side of one's elbow against the bus window. Having been riding this bus for the past two years and not encountering any of her co-workers or fellow acquaintances, it is no wonder she was shocked.
"Ow!"
—Once again... You have not noticed that I've been sitting next to you for the past twenty minutes and have accidentally bumped shoulders with you.
"Good evening, Levi."
"What book are we reading today?" He asked as he was opening his briefcase.
"The Gospel of Luke, you?"
"Revelation."
A book that causes one to feel parched, famished, and almost bone-tired, yet paradoxically, quenched by the words of righteousness, surfeited by the bread of heaven, and revitalized with heaven-like zest. It is, therefore, no wonder why their Spirits leaped with joy at the slightest glimpse and utterance of the book, and yet overcome by an indescribable grief.
The once cloudless sky was now filled with dark, gray clouds sprawling across the firmament. The birds, the trees, the wind, all earth together stood still for a moment and obliged the rain to descend. It seemed that the pouring rain was crying tears of joy for the Awaiting Day; and so their lips became static, and their eyes erratic until their stops arrived and bid each other good night.
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