"I don't remember clearly, it's blank behind the eye.
I caught up with the memory, I never said goodbye."
Blue days by Racoon.

"Wow honey, your art is improving a lot." Dad says appreciatively, admiring the solar system I'm painting on my bedroom door. My mom shrieked in horror when she saw me doing this, but he calmed her down, assuring her that I'll only make it look prettier. And it does. Colors make everything look pretty.

"Mind if I interrupt your work for a while?" My dad asks, smiling warmly at me. "I have guests that I'd like for you to meet."

"I don't mind, Dad." I smile, shrugging my shoulders.

He takes my hand and leads me out toward his office. Inside the room sits a middle-aged man who looks as old as my dad, with a teenage boy sitting beside him. Both look up when they notice us enter the room. The man smiles the moment he sees me, "Finally I get to see the little princess. She looks more like her mother, though." He winks at me.

"Yes but she has my determination." My dad says proudly, smiling down at me, before he beckons to them. "That is Paul, my best friend. He has just arrived from Italy." I extend my right hand and the man envelopes it in both of his, shaking it. "And that young man is his son, Ethan."

The boy beams at me, extending his hand first. His boyish chestnut hair is a wavy mess, styled in a comb-over. His skin is much whiter than mine, making his brown eyes stand out. I also note that looks older than me, also nearly as tall as his father.

I take his hand, smiling back. "Candice."

"Nice to meet you." He gives my hand a few more shakes before he lets go.

"Candice, why don't you show Ethan your paintings while I discuss work matters with my friend here?" Dad suggests.

"Sure, Dad." I nod enthusiastically, turning to face Ethan. "Let's go." I don't wait for him, I leave the room and head toward mine, and he follows behind. I always like showing off my paintings. It makes me happy.

I show him my paintings of Daffy Duck, Beavis and Butthead, Mickey mouse, and Winnie the Pooh. He only nods as he inspects each one of them. It annoys me. "Don't you like them?" I narrow my eyes.

"No man, they're cool." He grins. "I just no longer watch those things."

"How old are you?" I cross my arms.

"Fourteen." He never stops grinning. Is he enjoying my annoyance?

"You're not that old."

"Ya think? What are you? Eight?" He raises his eyebrows.

My lips press together in anger. "Ten."

He sits on my bed, crossing his legs. "That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Your paintings. They're suitable for your age."

"My age? I'm not a kid." I stomp my foot.

"Prove it." He challenges, shrugging his shoulders.

"I have paintings of Superman and Harry Potter." I put my hands on my hips, challenging him back.

"Really?" He perks up at that.

"Yes." I proudly say while I withdraw them from under my bed.

"Wow." He exclaims the moment he lays eyes on them. "You're so good at this."

And that's all it takes before we become friends. We chat and laugh, sharing things about ourselves. He tells me that he likes collecting stamps, I think it's boring. I tell him that I like the color blue, he thinks it's gloomy.

It doesn't matter, I still like him, and I make it clear by offering him one of the paintings he liked. He takes it.

Turns out it's not the last thing he takes from me.

... ... ... ... ...

He doesn't answer my question. He just stands there, staring at me with an open mouth. Shock is written all over his face, reassuring me that his presence is entirely coincidental, but that doesn't console me at all. If anything, It amplifies my panic. How can fate force him back into my life like this again?

His eyes roam all over my body, not in a sexual way, but in quest for the attestation of my presence. I wonder, have I changed a lot? He hasn't. Months don't induce much change, but he looks somewhat more mature. Maybe it's because he has finished his studies, or maybe it's because he has grown more muscles. No, perhaps it's because he's cut his chestnut hair. I don't know, I just feel it, combined with the slightest hint of familiarity.

"Candice." He finally exclaims in a hushed, confused voice, as if still not sure whether It's me or not.

"Ethan." I state, not missing a beat.

Hannah clears her throat. "Looks like you know each other." She awkwardly shuffles her bare feet, drawing my attention to her. She solely has a bathrobe wrapped around her body. Her dripping hair gives me the impression that she has just exited the shower.

"Of course. He's an old friend of mine. I was just taken aback when I saw him standing there." I explain, before dragging my eyes to Ethan once more. "After all, it's been almost a year since we've met."

He clears his throat, reluctantly opening his mouth. "I didn't know you lived here."

Of course you didn't, or you would've never thought of showing up.

"What are you doing in Seattle anyway?" I ask, feigning interest. I even sit on the nearest chair, acting like I'm trying to catch up with "my old friend".

He squints, trying to see through my facade. "I'll be managing my dad's business from here."

"Finally decided to retire, hasn't he?"

"No, he's dead." He bluntly announces, a halcyon expression on his face.

I sit there, speechless, and try to cognize the news. I didn't like his father, no scratch that, I hated him, and my abhorrent toward him wasn't news, but the complacent visage of his son unsettles me. Then again, he has always wanted to preside over his father's business, and he was never secretive about it.

Hannah clears her throat once more, looking baffled and disconcerted. "I'll get dressed while you guys catch up." She awkwardly says before she fleetly rushes into her room.

"Happy, aren't you?" He promptly asks me the moment she disappears, as If he could finally vocalize what he wants to say.

I shrug nonchalantly. "Depends on how he died." I stand, advancing toward him. "Was it a painful death? Did he suffer? Or was it an easy one? Maybe he died in his big luxurious four-poster bed while his servants assisted him." I'm surprised at how venomous the words sound to my ears. How much hatred do I still shoulder?

He flinches, looking away. "A heart attack."

"Good. Served him right. " I smile in triumph. "I'd be alert if I were you, because your turn is coming. I'm sure you've heard of that saying.." I pretend to be trying to remember it before I snap my fingers. "Karma is a bitch."

His face whips to face me. "I had to do it. I never had a choice."

"Bullshit. You always have a choice." I turn around to pick up my bag from the ground, but he pulls me back by my elbow, stopping me.

"Yes. Yes, I did. It was my future or yours." He shamelessly hisses at me, bringing his face close to mine. "And I chose myself."

"You're one selfish son of a bitch." I grit out, my temper flaring anew, and try to pull my arm free, but his hand tightens even more.

"Funny how it never stopped you from coming back." He birches back, and his words slice through my ego.

Here's a little piece of information about me: I'm not a violent person, but that puny fact doesn't stop me from delivering a bang-up smack across his cheek with my free hand. "I was such an idiot." I try to wrench my arm again and this time he lets go. I heft my bag from the floor before I head toward my room, all while he stands there, a hand on his cheek. I bet he didn't expect his night to be very eventful. I didn't expect mine to be either.

And oh boy, was it.

"I hope I don't see your face in the morning." I lastly snarl at him before I disappear into the safety of my room.

I don't sleep. I stay up for long agonizing minutes, unable to rest with him under the same roof, until I hear the front door slamming shut, declaring his departure, and I find myself drifting off before I even start to process what happened tonight.

... ... ... ... ... ...

"Tough night?" I start upon hearing Dylan's teasing voice. I must've dozed off. He slumps in the seat to my left and I turn to look at him, only to discover that he doesn't look any better than how I do. He has dark circles under his eyes, giving me the impression that he hasn't had enough sleep either.

"Looks like yours was tougher." I say as I sip my espresso. I know that caffeine will only make it worse, but I have to be conscious for now.

"Yeah, but I heard that yours only got better when I left." He smirks, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't know you loved trouble that much."

"You have no Idea." I roll my eyes, answering to both statements, before I start to search for my phone in my bag.

He tsks. "Maybe you shouldn't be hanging out with us anymore." He offers, oblivious to the fact that the action revived even after I left Emerald. "Is that coffee?" He asks, beckoning to the cup in my hand. He's eyeing it the way a destitute person eyes a hot baguette.

"Yes it is. You can get yours from the coffee house." I answer, pressing my lips together to refrain from smirking.

"Thanks for the brand new tip." He rolls his eyes, throwing his head back. He looks beyond tired, like he hasn't caught a wink of sleep in years. I start to ask him about the guy he left with last night, but then stop. He may look affable and easygoing today, but I don't think my ego can take any more shots.

I huff in frustration when I don't find my phone and start to empty the contents of my bag onto my lap, cursing myself for carrying a lot of unnecessary things with me.

Dylan groans. "You're making so much noise. What are you doing?" He squints, huffing and puffing.

I respire, glaring at him. "Searching for my phone."

He incredulously stares at me for a moment, as if I've grown two heads, before he throws his head back in laughter, his chest shaking, and I forget about what I was doing. Why does he have to look so beautiful? It's almost unsettling. Maddening even.

"What?" I snap.

He shakes his head, recovering from his fit of laughter. "No wonder you don't drink alcohol. You're naturally drunk." He gestures to the tablet attached to my chair, on which lies my phone.

My chest convulses and a laugh bubbles up my throat. He laughs too, causing heads to turn. "I'm such a mess." I mumble, starting to shove my stuff back into the bag.

"You are." He says, snatching my sketchbook just before I thrust it inside my sizable bag.

"Hey!" I try to seize it as fast as I can. I no longer like showing off my paintings. It has become a secret hobby of mine, and what I draw is always inspired by the things that take place in my life.

"Let's see what we have here." He stands, heaving the sketchbook high up in the air, and I curse the universe for being so short.

"Dylan, everyone is staring. Give it back." I hiss, my face turning tomato red as I feel dozens of eyes on us.

"No." He hisses back in amusement, mimicking me, before he snatches my coffee, adding insult to the injury. "Have a good day, Candy." He winks before he turns and leaves.

I stand there, stunned, feeling gazes burning through me. Should I ditch the class and go after him? Or should I stay? He's probably seen the paintings by now anyway.

Scratch the class. I'm going after him.

**Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed today's chapter. Please don't forget to vote and comment your notes.

Also, I have a little suggestion here. Do you think it's a good idea if I add names to the chapters?

Thanks!
Love,
Raghda. **