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Fifteen minutes to midnight, the party was finally winding down. Roxas knew he couldn’t stay away from it forever. His absence would be noted eventually, but, for the time being, he was going to let himself enjoy a few minutes of peace and quiet before returning to the cacophony that was the gathering inside. For him, the evening had passed in a haze, but now that he was finally away from the crowds and chatter, he felt he could breathe again.
In contrast to within the ballroom, there weren’t many loitering about in the lobby. At most, a staff member here or a small group of people engaged in conversation there. The maître d’hôtel bowed when Roxas walked past, a gesture he returned with a respectful nod.
Roxas looked up towards the venue’s second floor. He heard the music change from a cheerful tune of woodwind and bass to a soft piano melody. His mind made up, Roxas began to climb up the west staircase to the second floor.
The mezzanine was not as empty as he thought. Against the backdrop of the cloudless night sky through the long glass windows, there was no missing the girl in white. Even with her back to him, he found his gaze drawn to her and himself unable to look away. She seemed familiar, somehow, but why he could not explain.
As though she knew he was watching her, she turned around, lifting her eyes and meeting his own. For a moment he was struck by them, by her. Recognition dawned in her expression and Roxas has never been more aware of his heart beating in his chest.
But she merely lowered her gaze and dropped into an elegant curtsey. “Good evening, Your Highness.”
He couldn’t explain why his spirits plummeted just now either.
Though her clear blue eyes held nothing but polite curiosity, there was something oddly intense about it. “H-Hi...” was all he could stammer out before he caught himself. “Good evening,” he corrected, ducking into a bow, “I hope I wasn’t bothering you.”
She shook her head. “I’m not one for parties like tonight’s,” she said. “I just needed a quiet moment to myself is all. Is it the same for you?”
“Yeah,” he replied, scratching the back of his head. “That’s it, really.”
The girl nodded once and, content to leave him with his thoughts, turned back to the painting on display. Roxas followed her sightline, remembering how excited his brother had been when it arrived for the fundraiser and how his breath seemed to escape him when he saw it for the first time.
Tonight however, Roxas found that he wasn’t as interested in the painting as he was in the girl before it. He was always meeting people, especially on nights like this one, to the point where his memories of those meetings started to blur together, but her… He would have remembered meeting her, he was sure.
Who are you? he wanted to ask, but… no. He couldn’t. So what he said instead was, “Were you thinking of making a bid?”
“No, actually,” she answered, sounding amused, “It would be a little self-centered to bid on my own work, wouldn’t it?”
“Of course,” Roxas replied, blushing, “I didn’t realize…”
She hid her smile behind her hand as she looked away. Despite his embarrassment, Roxas couldn’t help but smile himself.
“It’s alright,” she said, her voice catching his attention just as she gently touched the plaque before the painting. A silver chain bracelet glinted on her slender wrist. “I asked your brother to not make my name known when he commissioned this,” she explained, “But it still feels strange to have it on public display. It’s like showing the world my dreams.”
“Your dreams?”
She nodded once. Her expression was a study in thoughtful solemnity until the moment he let out a soft chuckle. “Funny?” she inquired, tilting her head to the side.
“No,” he said, turning away to face the windows. He could see the clock tower from here. “I think it’s very brave of you. To show people what you dream of.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, “I don’t think I could.”
“Oh?” He heard her heels click against the marble floor as she came up to stand beside him, “What is it that you dream of, if I may ask?”
Roxas hesitated. “I don’t remember,” he half-lied, “Probably just fantasies.”
“Mmm… Probably,” she agreed, “But who says your dreams are just fantasy? Perhaps they’re trying to tell you something.”
He looked at her. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, lacing her arms behind her back. “No one knows you better than you. What do you think they’re trying to tell you?”
“Who knows?” Roxas said with a shrug of forced nonchalance. Questions with no answers and an aching nolstalgia for something that never happened. Nothing he could say aloud without sounding insane. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know myself at all. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and find out this was the dream.”
Her smile became mysterious. “Maybe.”
‘Maybe’? Roxas didn’t know what to make of that. But before he could inquire further, the clock tower began to ring, one metallic gong after another. Ten… eleven… twelve… Roxas counted out of habit, but then he heard-
“Thirteen,” his companion whispered, gazing out into the distance, “Did I miscount?”
Roxas shook his head. “The clock tower rings four times everyday and sometimes there’s an extra stroke,” he explained, “I don’t know if it’s just broken or something, but… there’s an urban legend. They say hearing a seventh one is lucky, but a thirteenth isn’t.”
“I wonder why that is.”
Roxas shrugged. “An old fairytale.”
“I see.” Definitely lost in thought now. She pressed her palms together as she stepped back, looking down shyly as she did. “If I may… I should probably take my leave now.”
Despite not wanting her to go just yet, Roxas nodded. He watched her turn to the east stairs and walk away from him. Such a familiar sight… It took more restraint to not run after her than he expected. He wanted to, but he didn’t.
Even so, there were some things he simply couldn’t leave unsaid.
She was a stride from the top step when the word at the tip of his tongue finally slipped past his lips.
“Wait!”
She turned around, one hand still on the stair railing, looking rather alarmed. “Yes?”
He hadn’t meant to startle her. Mouth dry, Roxas hadn’t really thought of what he wanted to say exactly either.
“I never asked for your name,” he said apologetically.
Surprise lit her features before giving away to embarrassment. She lifted her hand to her chest. “Naminé,” she said, “My name is Naminé.”
“Naminé,” he repeated, committing it to memory and determined not to forget. “Thank you, Naminé. It was nice speaking with you.”
“Of course.” Something flashed across her face. “And I… I mean, thank you for your time as well, Your Highness.”
“Roxas,” he told her, “Call me Roxas.”
“Roxas,” Naminé repeated, sounding as though she liked the way his name rolled off her tongue. “I know what you said about the clock tower,” she said as she held her left arm behind her back, “But the truth is, I feel very lucky tonight. I got to meet you, after all.”
“Well…” He gave her a lopsided smile, mostly to mask the shyness that was threatening to overwhelm him. “If you want to keep feeling that way, don’t order the Double Crunch cocktail. That recipe is better off as ice cream.”
Naminé laughed. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” she replied with a gentle light in her eyes. She did not immediately move to exit. Instead, she admitted, “You know… you’re not quite what I expected.”
“In a good way or a bad way?” Roxas asked wryly.
Naminé smiled again, kind and familiar. “In the best way.”
“That is good to know,” he replied, smiling back. “Have a good evening, Naminé.”
“You too, Roxas.” She nodded her head once and turned back to the stairs. “And if it’s okay…” Her wistful voice was barely audible. Roxas wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear what she said next. “I hope we meet again. Someday soon.”
And like a wave returning to the sea, she was gone, leaving the entire building feeling much emptier than before.
Not yet ready to return himself, Roxas walked back to Naminé’s painting where a speck of yellow glinting on the black floor caught his eye. He bent down, sweeping up a simple star-shaped charm with a broken clasp.
He rested his hand gently on the plaque displaying the painting’s name, but not that of the artist. A Scattered Dream. His encounter with the girl in white was already starting to feel like one.
“I hope so too,” Roxas said to nobody. His fingers closed around the charm, his only proof that Naminé had indeed been real. “Someday soon.”