unspool and crystallize

the little random and spontaneous things

Category: short stories

7th of June

7th of June, Breakfast — Woke up single, alone with my book and egg benedict on the bedside table.

7th of June, 2 PM — You picked me up. I took shotgun and comfortably transformed into the quirky me on the passenger seat.

7th of June, Dinner — You held my hand as we waited for our order in a Japanese cuisine. Awkward chopsticks, substantial talks, and happy tummies.

7th of June, 8 PM — You asked, I answered. I became yours.

7th of June, Bedtime — Hugging my pillow and smiling sheepishly, I drift off to sleep; this time, taken.

Advertisements

With You

I want to go cafe hopping with you. We could visit adorable sweets parlors, too. Even if you’re not part of the sweet tooth population,  I’m absolutely certain that you would be up for it. We would be talking over a cup of caramel macchiato  with a cheesecake resting on my plate and a Parmesan bacon sandwich resting on yours. We would talk about anything and everything – college, plans, cats, and whatnot – and have occasional conversations with subtle glances and hushed tones. When the sky paints itself with gradients of indigo and pink, we would walk to a park and I would take photos of all the random things that people take for granted; and perhaps I’d discreetly take a shot of you. We would watch kids play in the sandbox, an old man jogging his belly off, a woman sighing in her perfect suit. We would play the guessing game and make up stories of their lives. Oh! There would be cats too, and we would befriend them and receive purrs as we earn their trust. When the sky begins to glitter, it’s time for star gazing. But it also means it’s time to go home. So you drive your car as I sit on the passenger’s seat. We talk about how great of a day it was and laugh as we share snippets of our little adventure. Once we reach my gate, you would say,  “It was a good day.” I would reply, “It was a good day, indeed.”  “Goodnight.”

I want to do all these with you.

Sun Dance

July had kept its promise and brought about its melancholic rain. He knew about her hatred towards the weather so he told her about his sun dance in their 3 PM phone call over a cup of caramel machiatto.

He said, “I’ll do the sun dance and bring the sun back to keep loneliness creeping up on you. Just tell me when.” She could almost hear him smug.

“What if,” she said, twirling with the telephone cord. “What if I wanted it now?”

The line went quiet as she imagined him go about his so called ritual.

Yet, the sun never came.

By the evening when the gray skies called in as a substitute for the pink glow of the summer,  he knocked on her door. She swung it open just to meet a man holding out a stem of a sunflower; the yellow covering up most of his face.

“I told you I could bring the sun out.”

She smiled.

There ain’t no sun but I got a sunflower bright enough. 

Fine With Nothing More

“I like this, you know?”

“Huh?”

“What I’m trying to say is, I like us. You and me.”

“But we’re not even together.
We’re just friends.”

“Exactly, that’s what makes us beautiful. We have this thing beyond friendship, but nothing more than lovers.”

Uphill

Our arms are touching and I can feel his body slightly lift up and down as he breathes to the evening breeze. The soft grass beneath us is caressing me with the softest touch, sending tickles down my neck. I smile. It’s not a forced smile at all. This is what happiness feels like – natural. He shifts his position, lifting his arms to the back of his head. He chuckles with a sense of his youth still present and it’s adorable.

 

“What is it with us and this hill? Why do we come back here and lie down when we’ve got nothing else to do with our lives? I mean, it’s just grass. We don’t know if it’s even the same grass we lie on tomorrow, or even the day after.” I say, watching  his fingers tracing circles on the ground. “And it’s just another pink sky above us…”

 

He thinks for a while, and I can’t help but notice how the evening sun plays with his eyes. They’re beautiful. They shade up into a lighter brown, and I can see the small brushstroke-like swoosh of his iris. They look almost too perfect, a radial photography. “Well, no matter what people say, it’s our hill. When I’m here, you’re here. When you’re here, I’m here. See? We’ve been lying here since God knows when.” It’s funny how he just blurts out his thoughts without even thinking twice. What are we, lovers? I turn to look at the sky, now a shade of purple. “ Isn’t calming to see it change colors? And the strange thing is, you don’t seem to notice even if you stare at it. ” 

 

This time, I turn to look at him only to meet his gaze and I can still see those tiny brushstrokes. They seem to be fighting against temptation to come out as if they’re on hiding. He rubs his hands against each other, and temptation strikes me so hard I badly want to reach out and hold his hand too. There’s silence for a while and it doesn’t feel awkward at all. “So, what are you pointing out?” Silence. “But then again, I don’t mind coming up here.” Silence again. He raises his left hand and checks on his watch. Five minutes to six.

 

As if on cue, we sit upright almost at the same time. He stands up and brushes the grass off his jeans, the wind sprinkling them on me. “Hey, stop that!” I look up just in time to see his smile.

 

“See ya,” he extends his arms and his big hand pats my head, tousling my hair and he smiles again. Always the same routine: he says bye first, pats my head, messes my hair up, and smiles. Then he walks away. Oh, how much I hate people ruining my hair. He knows that and finds fun in it. What he doesn’t know: whenever he does it, it’s an exception.

 

He takes big steps downhill and hops onto his bike. He paddles a bit and looks back at me, smiling again. “Don’t stay too long, it’s getting dark!” he says, struggling to keep his hair from covering his eyes. Even the soft evening breeze loves to touch him.

 

“I know,” I mouth, but I stay for a while anyway. I curl up and hug my knees. I can feel my heartbeat. It’s quite fast. It doesn’t make sense at all.

 

Then again not all emotions are fathomable, aren’t they?

 

Maybe They’ll Turn Into Something

All she wants right now is to hear his voice, to hear him speak. There’s something about the way he talks. His accent, perhaps? The way he enunciates every word – it’s just beautiful, too good to hear. Or perhaps it’s the way he talks so calmly, flashing a soft smile. At times she catches his eyes going off into a dreamy state, looking at a distant space.

In the mornings, she’d stand diagonally behind him. His head turns slightly to the left, throwing careful glances at her. She looks at him for a while and when her heart can’t take it any second longer, her eyes somehow automatically dart away. That’s when he catches himself off guard and pretends to find some other subject to look at. While he’s at it, he lifts his right hand to fix his unkempt hair, and she finds it cute.

When she meets him for the first time, he smiles and just simply stares at her. From that moment on, she figures his smile will be the sole reason for those palpitating beats in her chest. As she gets closer to him that smile she treasures so much vanishes.

She feels sad.

She soon realizes that a more effortless smile is what she gets as they talk. Everything seems to be so at ease now. She teases him, she nudges him, and call him nicknames. They laugh at the same time at the exact same moment. A progress, she thinks.

Maybe they’ll turn into something.

She’s hoping.

Instincts

I play this little game in my head.

I’m off to my next class. I enter the building, taking a right turn towards the buzzing hallway. It takes less than a minute for the next left turn. On the seventh second,I quickly pick which staircase to take. I worm myself through the crowd, finally taking a turn. I take the stairs that’s right in front of me. I look down thinking, ‘Why this way? Why not the one nearer to my room?’ I look up, and there you are, descending in the opposite direction with a half-smile on your face. As we pass each other, you let out a soft ‘Hi!’

I play this little game in my head. It’s called Instincts, and you know what? Today, I won.