There stands Neva, dumbfounded.
What—what did he just say? she wonders.
No words from her, so he arches his body slightly to level their height.
His deep, striking eyes—framed by long dark lashes—bore into her soul, unreadable and intense.
Neva finds her senses hopelessly scattered, unable to comprehend him.
Her features remain frozen.
The mystery man tilts his head, waiting for a response.
Neva only stares at him.
At him before her.
So close...
Too stunned to speak. Too astray to even blink.
Her heart drums uproariously in her ears.
She does remember a scene, wherein someone had stormed her heart like this—or frozen the breathings.
And then—
as if cast out of heaven, a crunching sound of leaves under an approaching foot snaps the heated link between their eyes.
A man walks past them, briefly glancing at the pair—lost in a daydream—standing in the middle of the path.
"I have to—I have to go..." she stammers, her gaze flickering here and there, but nowhere near his eyes.
He straightens, his stare fixed on her.
Neva, caught in a moment far too intense concludes to far away from thisam rising her to feel the damn contrary of nerveless.
She swallows, summoning every ounce of strength.
"Excuse me," she whispers gently.
She steels herself, gathering the concealed courage in her 169 cm, slightly shivering frame, and turns sharply—a rushed ninety-degree pivot.
She walks ahead, feeling feverish with her cheeks and ears red and burning.
Over her small, faring back, long wavy locks bounce and dance with the breeze.
And she fails to glance back... and own the fortune of catching the mystery man's trailing eyes—or the dreamy little smile softening his lips.
.
.
.
Her mind clears the blinding fog, though wisps of mist still linger in the corners.
She bites her lip, thoughts spiraling around the Mystery Man—a phantom with wings, slicing straight through her muse.
Her heart? Agape—out on nowhere, inexplicably.
Won't ever admit, but a part of her hopes the mystery man follows.
Maybe... destined for the same destination?
But who is she kidding?
He was walking toward the east, while she's in the westside.
She exhales, puzzled by the heart's rebellion.
Purposelessly, her eyes drift, searching—longing—for even a shadow of him.
Maybe?
Maybe not?
Then, just then—a bakery café catches her gaze not far ahead.
A spark of happiness glistens in her soft almond eyes.
.
.
.
Neva leans slightly forward, eyes wide, pupils dilating as she studies the array of baked goods gleaming behind the glass.
So many textures, colors, scents—each dessert more tempting than the last.
Her gaze lingers on one in particular.
"You like shortcakes?"
Her eyes light up instantly, lips parting in delight.
She has a notorious sweet tooth—and strawberry shortcakes are her ultimate weakness.
"Yes!" she breathes, almost childlike in her glee.
A presence with a tranquiled heart, she fails to recognise the voice.
Unlike the storm the beautiful, handsome man had stirred in her only moments ago.
A youthful smile dances on her rosy lips as she turns her head to see the speaker.
She blinks—once.
Twice.
Then a third time, slow and stunned.
Her eyes widen dramatically as the veil of vision lifts, unveiling the familiar features—just inches away.
The corners of her lips fail to rise.
None other than the Mystery Man.
He smiles at her.
And her knees weaken, a storm churning in her belly.
A delicate ting~ of the bell above the doorway signals a new customer's arrival, snapping Neva back to her senses.
She straightens abruptly, grasping for composure.
She glances at the cashier.
Mind hazy—always hazy. And who else to blame? The Mystery Man.
Neva gives a faint shake of her head.
"Please pack four pieces of strawberry shortcake, and a pack of bread," she says, voice steadier than she feels.
The cashier has been always there—heeding them as they floated in their own universe.
He nods and types quickly on the computer.
"That'll be 28.90. Anything else, ma'am?" he asks. Neva shakes her head, waiting as he packs the items.
Neva hands him the bill and thanks him as he passes her the purchase.
"You're welcome. Please visit again," he says.
Neva only smiles at him, briefly glancing at the Mystery Man who stands silently beside her.
His gaze is fixed on her.
Her heart refuses to calm.
Is she sick?
Neva ignores him and paces out of the store.
But just a few steps ahead, an impulse strikes—she looks back.
Her breath catches in her throat as their eyes meet.
He steps out, the glassed door closing behind him.
She tears her stunned gaze away and starts ahead.
He holds nothing in his hands—clearly, he didn't buy anything from the bakery.
Soft footsteps trail behind her.
Is he following her?
No! Why would he?
But... what if he is?
She quickly brushes off the giddiness of a young, virgin heart—the thrill of being noticed by a handsome stranger.
Instead, she steels herself, weary, her guard rising instinctively.
No words are exchanged as she reaches the convenience store.
She walks in hurriedly.
Only the cashier and a few quiet, scattered customers are inside.
Without pause, she marches straight ahead to gather what she needs.
Her heart skips beat as she glances over her shoulder.
There he is, only a few strides away, hands shoved inside the oversized, black zip-through hoodie pocket.
Neva presses her lips together.
When he glances at her, Neva quickly turns away.
Drawing in a sharp breath, she hastens off.
Time blurs, each second stretching into an endless span.
She doesn't know how long it's been.
But she knows it's been long enough.
She roams the store aimlessly, pretending to be engrossed in her own business, grabbing random, unneeded things — feigning oblivion to the stranger trailing her path, the one silently observing her every move.
Neva breathes heavily.
Each breath a struggle as she fights to regain control over her fraying emotions.
She sneaks a glance at him.
The one who clings to her like a shadow, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her with dark, shimmering orbs.
He reveals a smile.
Neva quickly turns away, biting her lip. The urge to confront him about his 'misbehaviors' simmers beneath her skin.
"What's the matter with him?" Neva mutters to herself.
Strangely, she doesn't sense any creepy vibes radiating from him, which only deepens the crease between her brows.
Calculating a hundred ways to handle the situation, she takes a deep breath in.
Then, she grits her teeth, fists her hands, and turns to face him.
"Why are you following me?" She voices out, each of her words firm.
He arches a fairly thick, dark brow and doesn't reply immediately.
But Neva waits patiently, her brows furrowed at him.
"I confessed," he begins.
"Yet you gave me nothing in return." He advances toward her, his strides slow and intimidating.
"And I remember. I asked if you liked shortcakes." He shrugs his shoulders.
Neva swallows as he stands inches from her. How is she to respond that?
She inhales deeply through her nostrils. "Please keep your distance. I don't owe you any response."
She holds a fierce expression, her words as calm and stern as she can make them.
But that stubborn stroke of rosy color on her fair cheeks gives her away easily.
"I wouldn't, I couldn't even if I wanted to," he says, lightly shaking his head.
Oh... The way his smile makes him appear such pure merchant.
This girl made the strings of his heart clench, While he tried to weave together her own tangled threads.
How could he? Why would he leave and not let her compensate for it?