The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS, MAYA ANGELOU

                              THE RAIN WAS FALLING heavily over the asphalt of the street, the damp air easily sticking clothing to the skin without any effort. No one would have had the unhealthy idea of going out in such weather, holed up in their own humble abode. Iris Roberts would have preferred to be in someone else's place at that very moment. She had the means, she could pay to have someone else steal her dearest torment, but she was not so foolish as to sicken others with her useless problems.

Problems? A girl in her early twenties, who had her whole life ahead of her, called herself ''full of problems''?

Wait!

She was the first one who had left her life in the lurch to please the lives of others, hiding her pain behind a majestic smile, believing that no one would eventually put up with that whine called 'melancholy' by others. Iris knew herself and how she had let herself go during the time that was her life.

Yet she desperately wanted the life of before. She waited for it in the cloth of her hand. She waited. She honestly didn't know what.

Iris was incredibly lonely. The company of her closest friends was not enough if inside she felt a boulder in her chest. She had been told that the help of a partner beside her would clean up the mess that was her head.

Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit!

What was the point of a half-life? Lived like that?

Iris couldn't help but forgive him, even then, because she was completely entangled in that feeling that had united her with that boy. Nikolay. Her first kiss, her first time with someone, their relationship was a whirlwind of mixed emotions, and Iris had given her body and soul to that boy, so much so that she no longer recognised herself. She had had much better days, but that was something she would not wish on even her worst enemy. She had left her. On her birthday. With a measly message sent over the phone, standing her up on their date.

The downpour, with it's force, overpowered the deafening noise of intrusive thoughts, her wet blouse clinging like a second skin. She waited, standing in the middle of the pavement, for something to change that despicable situation.
She picked up the phone and small raindrops hit the screen. The mixture of the tears and the storm did not improve her view or her mood one bit.

She opened Nikolay's chat, the last marked message had been read so many times within a few hours that by now Iris knew its contents very well. From memory.

"I love you, Iris, you're amazing. But I can't take it anymore."

I love you.

Yes, that statement was definitely true, she knew him better than the pockets of her favourite jacket. Fuck. And why had he decided to leave her on the most important day of her life? How had he dared?

It's your fault, Iris. She recalled her subconscious. She breathed in the rainy air at the top of her lungs, closing her eyes, mascara furrows camped on her skin.

But I can't take it anymore.

That made her vomit. A sick feeling in her stomach. He was playing his stupid game again, and Iris knew it well.

He leaves me, then desires me again.
And I fall for it, like someone who is now addicted to this love.

Iris looked intently at the screen and her fingers soon began to touch the letters on the keyboard.

Nikolay?

Please, answer me.

We always manage to clarify.

Did I do something wrong?

I love you, Nikolay.

I can't live without you.

                              IRIS HAD TURNED THE PHONE over for the fifteenth time in a maximum duration of two minutes flat, sighed, noticed its completely black screen without a single notification ticking, and rested it back in place. Turned it upside down against the table, giving clear visibility to passers-by of its fantastic cover with tiny yawning kittens printed on it. She would have gotten several crooked faces but she didn't care, she nibbled her nails, her heart feeling completely on edge. A singular teenager like her, she would have avoided showing up at a bar in such a frighteningly bad condition: the shaggy hair had messed up her plans of that morning, when she had tried with poor results to straighten it to become a little prettier in Nikolay's presence.

Her heart collapsed, quickly, at the mere thought of him. Yes, that behaviour was absolutely masochistic, but still, in no way, in that life, could she feel any negative feelings towards him. She was used to it. Simply used to his mood swings.

She tapped her foot on the floor, arms folded on the bar counter, feeling watched from behind as if she were a murderess.
She was no less than the barmaid, who had been eyeing her from under her round glasses for an infinite time. She observed her with eyes that felt regret, sorrow (Yes, of course! As if she could understand her) but had not spoken a word serving the girl what she had ordered.

Her long coffee, with milk in it, sat in front of her cynical eyes, wet with tears, waiting for any consequence. She did not even know why she had ordered it; she felt a sickening pit in her stomach, and the inside of her cheek tingled. The waitress, who had not taken her eyes off her since she had entered, placed tissues over her plate.

She thanked her with her eyes, until she disappeared into the kitchen behind the sliding door. She took the glass in her hand and held it for an excessively long time, the brown colour of the coffee mingled with the pearly white of the milk, and contemplated it like a Picasso painting.

She was half-wet in a bar she had never seen, with a broken heart and dripping make-up, how could people not notice her presence? Besides, it was not very pleasant to be faced with someone contemplating the glass like that. She shook her head dazed in thought, bringing the goblet closer to her tingling lips. Caffeine fixed every problem, at least that's what Iris assured herself, it calmed her down and managed to put her nerves in order. But not with Nikolay, she now knew. When she put her glass down for the second time with a thud, the only thing she was left with was the bitter taste of caffeine and a hallucinating headache.

Taking in all that rain had not been a good idea, neither brilliant nor healthy.

She checked the screen one more time, and, noticing that there was nothing waiting for her, sank into her chair, trying not to cry again.

What a shitty birthday.

She shifted her coffee, wishing there was nothing under the reach of her eyes. There it was again, the sense of imbalance that was her body, but she couldn't go home in that condition, her mother would have asked questions. She would have peppered her with questions. Iris didn't have enough strength to get rid of that mood, and crying in her room was never her thing. She preferred to face things with Nikolay, but it was almost impossible to have a civil discussion with him.

Wrapped up in the torment that was that situation, Iris heard the door behind her being opened, letting a not-so-frozen but perceptible chill enter inside, the bell above the door rang.

Iris hated that little bell.

The young woman rolled her head slightly, hiding behind the mass of thick hair, looking at the elegant stranger who had crossed the threshold.

He moved his chair, seating himself two seats away from her. He placed a book on the counter, and smiled at the waitress asking for his afternoon order. The stranger carried a mass of hair backwards, it was jaunty and curly, it ended a little everywhere. He wore a shirt that wrapped around his abdomen, a tie tied like a rope, and an open grey jacket. Iris found the situation amusing. She, who looked like something out of a zombie apocalypse confronted with Miss. perfection next door.

Touchè

Cliché! Iris thought, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear.

Iris took the phone in her hand, leaving the stranger alone, she stared at the blank screen while remaining silent, as if a move or request from him would shatter her mysteriousness. The perfect stranger's eyes didn't take long to settle on her, Iris couldn't notice the colour of his eyes, but she picked up on the intensity of his gaze.

"Is there a problem?"

She had never been a grumpy person, Iris was everything, but gruff was not like Iris. But that sentence slipped out of her mouth in a harsh, maintained tone. The man caught in the act, lowered his gaze to his steaming cup of tea.

"Mh, no, absolutely," mumbled the man, fixing the curls that had fallen on his forehead.

Then Iris gave a little smile, the quiet kind, where she moved only a part of a muscle and it still came out perfectly.

"Then stop staring at me," she resumed, and the stranger's brown eyes met her darkened pupils. The man adjusted the collar of his asphyxiating shirt, the Adam's apple sailing up and down in an embarrassed manner.

Iris shifted her eyes easily, getting up from her chair and putting it back in its place. She took the phone in her hands and walked out of the club without giving any explanation, she was sure she would find a place to stay.

The only question she could ask herself was why she had been so impulsive with this man she had never seen. She was sure it was all the anger she was feeling, and how her birthday had gone to shit. Yes, that was definitely it.

The fact remained that her eyes would soon forget the stranger's face, and that strange interaction would only be a distant memory.