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— • —
Our first encounter was on a riverbank at sunset.
As a senior student and member of the student council, work would always keep me at school until the hour of dusk where the sky splits into light and dark. On that day, it was no different. After completing the set of jobs assigned to me, I bid farewell to my fellow council members and headed home, following the path I use when I walk to school in the morning.
My parents tell me I have an unusual preference for walking. Though the bicycle they gave me for my birthday would make my travel time shorter, I never use it to go to school. Maybe because walking lets me taste the morning peace I never get to feel. With all my responsibilities, I would often find myself starting each day in fast forward, trying to finish more than a day's work in 8 hours. It’s only when the day ends and I start my journey back home that everything would come to a stop, only the sound of rustling leaves and singing crickets accompanying the sound of my shoes scraping against the ground. People could argue how boring it would be to simply watch the night creep in and take over the entirety of the sky. Weirdly enough, it’s during the least exciting part of my day that the most interesting meetings occur.
Just like when I first met him.
At the back of my head, I assumed he was just another student who would take a nap after playing games by the river. Many students did that, at least in our school. In fact, I remember myself during my first year running around the riverside playing cops and robbers until my parents would call me to go home. It was a normal part of any normal teenager’s life.
But for whatever reason that day, my body moved on its own and stopped right beside him. I stared at his face for several minutes, watching him breathe steadily, an indication of how deep in slumber he was. I couldn't pin a name to his face, although I kept getting the feeling I've already seen him many times. I dismissed it back then, thinking he was probably a student I encountered in school, but I couldn’t deny how looking at him ignited both an ache and an itch deep in my chest.
Out of the blue, a loud cough escaped my throat, waking up the mysterious riverbank boy. Instinctively, my feet scrambled to run away, the smell of lavender filling the air as I tried to calm down my thumping heart.
— • —
Our second encounter was during the school festival.
Every April, our school would hold a student festival where each class would prepare booths and activities for fellow students and visitors alike. This year, as a member of the council, I was tasked with evaluating the booths made by the 4th year students. I figured the best way to do that was to enter each booth and try the activities myself. I soon regretted that decision when I came to know that one class was doing a haunted house. Insisting it was for fairness, I forced my coward self to enter the haunted house, challenging myself to not scream at every bit of sound I heard inside. Obviously, I failed. Even more embarrassing, I blacked out near the end of the course after the infamous Sadako appeared behind me.
Next thing I knew, I was on a bed in the school infirmary with someone beside me. I couldn't see their face at first because they had it tucked in their folded arms, but the weird ache and itch in my chest gave me a hint.
He was the boy from the riverbank.
I gently poked the back of his head, pulling him from dreamland. The first thing he did after waking up was ask me if I was fine. I still remember how my heart began racing when his voice reached my ears for the first time.
It was deep, compelling, and eerily nostalgic.
I remember asking him a barrage of questions, most of them without sense, just to hear his voice over and over again. I had no idea back then. I didn't know why this stranger kept drawing me in, why his voice sounded comforting, and why his presence felt like home.
Among the nonsensical queries I threw at him, I managed to ask for his name.
“Perth, year 4 class 3.”
I replied with my own, taking it as an opportunity to shake his hand. The instant our hands met, I threw out a big cough, driving him into a state of mild panic. I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, which he responded to with his own. That was the first time I saw him smile and heard him laugh. He stayed with me for nearly an hour, saying he would take responsibility because I fainted in their booth. It might be out of obligation, but that shred of thoughtfulness would stay with me as an everlasting memory.
As he bid me goodbye and walked out the door, a strong wind blew from outside the open window. I broke into a fit of coughs once more, my bed being sprinkled by petals of lavender. At the time, I had assumed they were from the plants growing outside. Little did I know, something was beginning to grow inside me.
— • —
Our succeeding meetings were mostly coincidental, so coincidental to the point it was scary, as if someone had cards with our faces on it and kept putting them in the same place. During those random encounters, we would simply greet each other, chat briefly about idle things, then naturally part ways. We never looked for each other or planned to meet deliberately.
But that doesn't mean I didn't try.
I couldn't help it. Even though he was just supposed to be another kid in our school, an acquaintance at most, he was one who wouldn't leave my mind, whose voice would tug a string and pull at my heart, whose smile spreads warmth throughout my entire being.
I wanted more.
I wanted to be more than the guy from the student council that he meets at questionable occasions.
And I thought fate wanted that too, when we saw each other at a friend’s birthday party.
On the fifth week of spring, the student council secretary, a close friend of mine, celebrated his 16th birthday at a karaoke bar 15 minutes away from school. Although I knew he was from class 3, I had no idea he was a close friend of the weird acquaintance I was dying to meet.
“You really need to stop calling me riverbank boy.”
That’s the first thing Perth said after taking the seat next to me.
To be honest, seeing him in that party was both a pleasant and chilling surprise. My encounters with him had always felt uncanny, like a never ending case of déjà vu. The way we sneaked out of the party, the dazzling stars we watched that night by the riverside, the startling similarities and hobbies we didn't know we shared, the scent of his cigarette, and the flavor of strawberry punch. All of these felt so familiar it was like I was living a flashback.
“It’s weird, Mark.”
“What is?”
“How I always get this feeling that we’ve known each other for a long time.”
“You’re exaggerating, Perth.”
“Maybe. But you know? I like being with you. I wonder why.”
I tried not to show how happy I was at those words, despite the strong urge to tell him how much I liked to be beside him, to watch his lips curve up and his cheeks turn red, to have his face a few inches from mine, to hear his ragged breathing.
“I wonder why too.”
That was the nonchalant reply I gave him back then, which was far from fake. Before, I didn’t really know why I enjoyed being with Perth. But looking back at those times, the answer had always been there, in the form of a racing heart and a lingering scent of lavender.
I like Perth.
That was my 'why'.
— • —
My first symptom came out when we met at the school greenhouse.
I heard from the disciplinary committee head that he had been caught smoking by the teachers during lunch break. As punishment, he was forced to manage the school greenhouse for two weeks. I immediately headed to the isolated room behind the freshman building, finding him dressed in a black jumpsuit with dark green gloves that almost camouflaged with the plants he was weeding. I ignored how my chest contracted when his face broke into a smile brighter than the sunlight he was basked in.
The minute we sat down on a wooden bench near the flower arranging table, he began talking about his frustrations, spitting out names and curses here and there, which internally made me glad. I thought it was a testament to how close we had become in the last few months. Then again, if a member of the student council lets a student smoke during school hours, it definitely means they have a particular kind of relationship.
For Perth, it meant we were really good friends.
For me, it was something else.
Something that became clear after I offered to help him water the plants.
“Have you always had that?”
I heard him ask, hesitantly pointing at the birthmark on my left leg. Because I folded the hems of my pants, I ended up exposing the thin line wrapping around my left knee. I didn’t have any reason to hide it, so I told him how I’ve had it since I was born and that I never knew why or how I got it in the first place.
“You know, they say birthmarks are actually scars that you got in your previous life.”
It remains clear in my memory, the sound of the watering can that fell from my convulsing hands and Perth’s frantic shouting. My pain-filled eyes met his confused ones before my vision turned white and was replaced by an image of an unidentified young man. He was clad in a fancy navy blue uniform, with glasses covering his eyes and a cigarette between his lips.
Krit, you should really cut down the smoking.
Relax, it won’t kill me.
I swear, at this rate, you’re gonna be a smoker in your next life too.
The last thing I was able to process before completely fainting was the comfort of Perth’s embrace and the huge pile of lavender petals sitting on a pool of blood.
— • —
In the weeks following what happened at the greenhouse, I tried to stop talking to Perth by all means possible— ignoring his messages, avoiding him in the hallway, pretending I was sick or drowned in council work. Even my parents could tell that something was wrong with me when I finally took out my bicycle from the garage. But I had to do something, anything just to lure me away from him and prevent myself from falling deeper into this trap.
Maybe this was my punishment for playing blind and ignoring all the signs. I was foolish to think a weakling like me could cover this up. But the more I tried to close my eyes, the more it became clearer. Something bound me to Perth, and had I known months ago that it would result in this condition, I would’ve stopped and walked away. The condition that was believed to only be a myth, a fictional disease rooted in an emotion so profound it deteriorates the body and brings it to its demise.
And I wondered why it had to be me, and why it had to be him. Though we have our set of shared preferences, we’re actually quite different from each other. People deem me as the lawful good friend, the overachiever, the mission control center. Meanwhile, Perth’s the unpredictable hurricane, the rebellious outlier, the antisocial. If you think about it, that’s an unusual combination. And yet, it just felt so right to have him beside me, as if that space had always been for him.
I found the answer on the third night before graduation.
That night, I went home after finishing a long list of council work, only to see a sleeping Perth waiting for me outside our house. At the sight of his small frame curled up against the wooden column of our porch, I became baffled and disoriented, the insides of my body churning and turning, drawing out loud and painful coughs that echoed throughout the silence of the night.
Looking down, I found two blood sprinkled lavender flowers on the ground, making me cower in so much fear that I didn’t notice Perth come up to me. He caught me in a gentle embrace, and I felt hot tears flow down my cheek as I indulged myself in the comfort he was trying but ultimately failing to give me. I clenched his dirtied uniform and cried in frustration.
I love him. I love Perth. And the more I did, the faster my clock ticked.
But just like my heart that beat for him, Perth was stubborn. Even after I begged and cursed and screamed for him to leave, his feet didn’t bulge. Instead, he tightened his hold on both of my arms, refusing to let go.
His tenacity was despicable, but so was my desire to stay and melt in his arms.
I love you so much. If you’re gone, how would I live?
It was after those words came out of his mouth and I looked into his eyes that I realized. I wasn’t the only one who remembered. I wasn’t the only one imprisoned by fate. I wasn’t the only one overcome with a love so real and strong that it surpassed lifetimes.
“I won’t let you die in this life too, Mark.”
That’s right. There was no need to run away anymore. There was no need to bury this feeling. There was no need to fear death.
My world that had been frozen in time and impeded by thorny vines saw a ray of light piercing through the darkness, replacing the suffocating scent and taste of bloody lavender with the sweetness of a kiss so deep and filled with yearning.
Thank you for finding me.
— • —