2. No Prettier Roses
Where the stem meets the offshoot, Akraptor carefully snips away at the overgrowth with a pair of pruning shears, his focus rendering him virtually deaf to the world outside his little garden. He is so taken in by the precision-work of trimming that he doesn’t feel the pebbles bouncing off his back, until one hits him square in the head.
“Would you stop that?” He turns around with a scowl, only to find … nothing. Squinting in bewilderment, he pans the perimeter, from fence, to grass, to porch, and onto the opposite fence.
“Up here, silly.”
His heart begins to pound. How long has it been? Despite their exchange having lasted no more than a few minutes, her voice is not one he can ever forget. It visits him at dawn, when the finches serenade the morning, at dusk, when candlelight flickers against the brisk of spring, and in dark of night, when the lines fencing fact from fiction are not so clear.
Standing tall, atop the weathered, moss-covered rooftop is the only lady whose countenance he cannot keep his eyes from.
Gwen. He has whispered her name to the winds of all four seasons, but he’s never had the chance to call out to her in person. But now that the opportunity presents itself, instinct and practice begets a different response.
“We’re closed today,” he says blandly, suppressing the urge to cringe in retrospect.
“I know. That’s why I’m up here.”
Akraptor glances at the ground, then back up at the roof. It’s a two-story building. “How did you get up there?”
She shrugs, strands of snow-like hair falling off her shoulders. “I just … jumped.”
“You ju—” Akraptor deadpans, slack-jawed. “You’re not a normal person, are you?”
She throws herself off the roof, much to his dismay, and lands gracefully. “I guess not.”
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Akraptor doesn’t realize how tall she is until she walks up to him. He used to tower over everyone in his neighbourhood, but she might even reach his ears.
He clears his throat. “How did you even find me?”
Her expression changes, twisting with displeasure, and still, she is beautiful with a frown tainting those lips. “That’s right. Why did you move in the first place? I searched for you, floor by floor, for the past two years.”
“You searched for me?” Akraptor cannot fathom how much it would’ve cost to scour the continental floors, one by one. This was not something a young woman like her could do on her lonesome. “Why?”
“I—” she stops, as if to compose herself. The words that leave her mouth next are crafted with temperate thought. “I couldn’t find prettier roses.”
Akraptor can’t help but burst into laughter. “That’s a pretty lame reason.”
She scoffs. “What about you? Why did you move?”
His lips flatten into a thin line. “Rent was getting expensive.”
A silence settles between them. Akraptor quivers under his breath. She is enchanting, in her white sculptural blouse, sleeves cut at the elbows, and dark blue jeans. It’s hard to believe she is standing before him, willing to share the same space and meet his unworthy gaze.
“Coffee.” She says abruptly, crossing her arms.
He lifts a brow inquisitively.
“You’re getting coffee with me,” she repeats. Her tone is firm, but her eyes betray the butterflies. “You owe me at least that much. When are you free?”
Akraptor finds himself smirking. Perhaps she’s more human than he thinks. “I don’t drink coffee.”
“What do you drink then?”
He hesitates, even though he’s had the answer the moment she asked the question.
“Tea.”
A look of triumph crosses her face.
“I know a good place that makes both.” She turns, a lively spring to her step, waving a hand in farewell before leaping back onto the rooftop in one stride.
“I’ll send you an invitation in the mail.”
An invitation? He chuckles. Who does she think she is—a daughter from the 10 Great Families?
“What if I don’t come?” he asks.
She shoots him a confident look and holds the stare, daring him to refute.
“You will.”