Were they not unknown?
That this world nurtured many rare souls with hearts, mind and beautiful spirits.
Resembling a wisp in the air... Painting an ethereal frame in the earth.
So pristine, pure and untouched above the reach of the tips of fingers...
Gentle cocoa orbs, beholding glittering stars, swallowing galaxies and universes. An oval framed youthful face, feathery butterfly lashes brushing almond eyes—eyes reflecting the serenity of her soul.
Such long wavy and luscious onyx hued hair, cascading down her waist—like an enchanted waterfall.
She stands on her feet, there, at the restless entrance of Magenta Airport.
Her belongings rest by her side—she travels light.
For all the life she's lived, she's had incomplete—imperfect memories.
We often wonder about fate.
Options a fair amount—yet the mind narrows, the heart bemuses.
We float, we flow. Every shake, every swing, and all we opt in the end—defines our fate.
She gazes out across the plain city of Erriador, her eyes wide with wonder.
Her attire: a coquette blush-pink top adorned with lace patchwork and ruffle trim, airy and delicate, paired with light blue bootcut jeans that flatter the natural elegance of her fair, graceful form. The sweet breeze dances gently, lifting strands of her hair into the air.
Passersby, though occupied—racing and rushing, always designing two steps ahead of life—still spare a few of their engaged seconds for a glance at the beauty before them.
A girl, nurturing a heavenly appearance.
A magnificent presence, leaving them unwilling to cease their whispering words or divert their lingering, wandering stares.
The hustle and bustle of the city feels unwelcome to her.
She exhales a deep breath, a little drowsy, a little worn.
Painfully unaware of the gazes with differing eyes that trail her form.
"It doesn't feel so great to be back," she whispers, eyes dropping to her feet.
She frowns, shoulders slouching beneath the weight of vehement thoughts.
Wandering ahead, she scans the row of vehicles in the parking space, a little perplexed when several of them begin approaching her—lining up, pulling over.
One by one, drivers step out, offering to take her as their passenger. She smiles apologetically, politely refusing, and settles for the one nearest to her.
.
.
.
Beginning the journey to her new home, she adjusts herself in the seat to get comfortable—when suddenly, a thought strikes.
She reaches into her purse, retrieves her cellphone, and swipes through for a familiar number. Her fingers pause, then tap to dial.
The phone rings—once, then twice.
She waits patiently for the ringing to come to an end.
"Hello? Neva, did you land safely?"
A sweet voice reverberates from the speaker.
She breathes irregularly, as though catching herself after a stumble. As if she's just raced through a house too large for her feet—and finally, at last, reached the ringing device.
She smiles—just imagining her aunt's inelegant self bustling about at home.
"Yes, Aunt. I just got into a cab," Neva assures her gently.
A promise kept—the one she made to her aunt: to let her know the moment she landed in the faraway land of Erriador.
Aunt May exhales, her breathing steadying with relief.
"That's good… that's good," she says, her voice laced with concern.
"My dear niece, please stay alert at all times, alright? And don't accept anything from strangers, alright?"
Neva chuckles softly, warmed by the tenderness, protection, and anxious love in her aunt's voice.
"I know, I'll always be careful. Calm your stormy mind, okay? Trust this niece of yours a little." Neva gently, playfully reassures her motherly aunt, drawing giggles from her end of the line.
"Of course, my Neva is all grown up," May says with a faint smile, a touch of melancholy in her voice.
"But you're still just a little girl… my little girl."
Neva's gaze softens.
Now, more than ever, she wishes May were by her side—her gentle presence always had a way of warming her heart.
"Please be safe, Neva.
Take care of yourself. Call me—anything—and I'll teleport to you or something," May declares with earnest firmness.
Neva laughs. "Sure, Aunt. Say hi to Uncle for me. Bye—"
"I will. And what do I always say? Never ever say 'bye.' We say: 'See you later.'' May reminds her clumsy niece, matching her with a clumsy kind of love.
Neva chuckles.
"Call me when you reach home, darling."
"I will, Aunt."
---
Half an hour later, Neva arrives at her newly bought apartment.
After the cab pulls away and she exchanges a polite greeting with the female owner who welcomed her, she now walks forward, her gaze drifting toward the cream-and-coffee-colored building—one she deliberately chose while sailing through listings online.
She peers around the compound, surrounded by trees, blooming flowers, and soft greenery, taking in her new surroundings.
The evening air sways her hair along with the leaves on the tree branches.
The apartment radiates a quiet charm, resembling the elegant English countryside homes, with three floors and twelve doors—each leading to someone's story.
As she stands before her door, the realization sinks in.
This place... this is now her home.
.
.
.
Unlocking the door, she breezes in. As she walks through the hallway, the lights switch on automatically. Her gaze connects with a dark living room that adjoins the corridor.
Neva steps into the living room, and the darkness strips away—light flooding the bare walls.
She sets her luggage down and lets her eyes roam across her new abode.
The interior is painted in a teardrop palette. As she wanders, the echo of her footsteps resounds through the hushed apartment. Soon, she discovers a charming bedroom and a fresh, well-lit kitchen.
Sliding the blinds aside, she peers through the south-facing window in the living room.
The clear glass reveals a cozy little balcony bathed in soft light.
It's a comfy space, she muses.
She smiles, content. It's just enough to make her stay feel comforting—maybe even feel like home.
⑅ ⑅ ⑅
Neva has spent the last five days acquiring familiarity with her new surroundings.
Her home in Erriador is slowly beginning to feel lived in.
A week from now, she'll be attending classes at the college she recently enrolled in. Restless, she's poured her energy into adorning her home and preparing for the new term—avoiding the pull to explore the unfamiliar neighborhood outside.
Now, buried in her book, she finally notices the sun lowering behind the clouds. Her stomach growls—an impatient protest.
She exhales a loud sigh and shuts the book with a lazy thud. No groceries. No dinner. And no motivation.
Gathering her scattered academic books and the open Bible beside her, she peels herself up from the floor.
Her legs, stiff and sore from hours of stillness, protest slightly as she rises.
♡
Strolling through the street, the cool whispers of the autumn breeze tingle her skin.
She's donned in skinny black jeans and a casual black hoodie.
Her love for letting her long, wavy hair flow freely needs no explanation—for she's never known how to style it any other way.
The trees flanking the pavement paint the world in vibrant, enchanting colors.
It's the start of October, the ushering of winter forthcoming.
Freshly fallen leaves mingle with crisp, dry maple ones, emerging soft crunches beneath—following each of her step.
She tilts her chin up slightly, her marmoris eyes veiled beneath her lashes.
The swirling away, warm golden sun peeks through the agape of branches—filtered glow through fiery, red and orange maple leaves, showering a glaze of orphic light on her peaceful, seraphic face.
She smiles—feeling alive.
It's her favorite: that earthy, rich scent in the air—of freshly mown hay and whispered promises of change.
"Hey you!"
A voice—sudden, from nowhere—cuts through the stillness, stirring her senses and slowing her steps with caution.
She turns, eyes puzzled, scanning the quiet street.
And then she sees them—
A pair of striking dark orbs staring back at her, deep and vast, concealing an endless abyss… meets her own with impossible familiarity.
A beautiful, handsome man.
She just stands there, her almond eyes rounding slightly at the edges—gazing into his.
His cold, sharp eyes are locked on hers. With each steady step he takes toward her, those siren eyes soften into something gentler—doe-like, warm, unfurling.
And then he's there... so close.
Neva dreams not a thing—yet everything.
She's hushed, her features tranquiled, stilled into quiet.
He stares at her deeply, abscend of words, and she awaits, her breath held for whatever he has to say.
She blinks, catching the reflection of herself in his eyes.
Her gaze lingers, breathing in the towering frame of him.
His hair is dark and slightly wavy, soft and a little messy—enough to make one's palms itch to caress and ruffle it in quiet adoration.
His skin glows with a honeyed hue, his nose straight and noble, jaw sharpened like sculpture, framed by dark brows.
The rays of the sun kiss his face, igniting his striking almond-cocoa eyes.
"It unfastened," he says.
"Huh?"
The mysterious man tilts his head, his deep, curious gaze still securely tethered to hers.
An unexpected shift in the air.
Neva, the young maiden, feels the breeze grow warmer—as her cheeks blush scarlet.
Just like that~?
Let the blood rush red to the cheeks.
Let the eyes voice what the lips fail to word.
Let the awkward fingers rest in calmness.
Let time stay still, and the heart run faster.
Let the roots sprout deep throughout the soul.
Let the floweret kind of love bloom unhurriedly—
"Your shoelaces… they're unfastened," he says again, his voice softened—smooth and ocean-deep.
Neva, stunned, looks down.
Her eyes widen.
They really are unlaced.
"Uh—uh, thank you. I didn't know," she stammers, her words tumbling awkwardly.
A beautiful smile delights on his face, and for a moment, she forgets what she's supposed to do—
Tie her disheveled laces!
"You should be careful," he says gently.
And then, to her surprise, he crouches down—unexpectedly—gathering the disheveled laces in his fingers and beginning to weave them back into place.
Neva's astonished eyes widen further, trailing down the shape of him as he kneels before her.
"Yo-you don't have to do that," she stammers, swallowing hard, burning up with shyness.
Almost without thinking, her fingers brush over her warm cheeks.
She's well aware—Neva has burned scarlet.
He rises to his feet, having quietly placed aside a destiny of tripping injury.
"Of course I should,"
In a sudden flinch, she pulls her hands away from her face.
"Why would you?"
He feathers his lips with a faint smile, gaze steady, and speaks seven natural words:
"After all, I've fallen for you Angel."