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She walked, perhaps a few hours, in the rain. Her shoes were hurting her, but, now numb to her own pain, the only thing she vaguely could perceive was the sound of the raindrops hitting the pavement and the aroma of wet grass. That afternoon, just that same afternoon, little by little he left everything behind. Firstly, she took off her shoes. It mattered little or nothing to her, and it did not even cross her mind for a moment, that these were her most precious pair of Louboutin high heels, those patent-leather vermilion beauties whose twelve-centimeter-long stingers were their favourite weaponry. She simply took them off and left them in a random corner to continue walking. The ground was rough and cold, but at least this way she could continue walking without further discomfort, or at least not one that was difficult for her to ignore. Her hair, which she had combed perfectly in the morning, was now messy and wet. Her coat ended up so wet and therefore heavy that she eventually dropped it in the middle of the street when it started to annoy her. By now, all the fuss she had made at home the day before to find the right outfit was so far from her thoughts, such as the way that coat completed an outfit that I wanted to show off on a special day.
A ruined day, actually.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Her whole life or, at least what she remembers it was, she gave importance to disappointing and banal things. Things that she couldn't even remember, like why she tried so hard to achieve certain goals that now simply didn't matter anymore.
An entire image of herself made over the years was destroyed.
A whole fucking life plan.
Watching him fall wasn't the worst.
No.
It was seeing the time wasted, the bad times, everything it involved and everything she sacrificed.
Everything!
All the endurance she put in for years for nothing!
All to end up as the shadow of someone who didn't think about her for a moment, even though that someone owed her a lot.
Even when that someone was announced to her as the love of her life.
What was she doing then?
Her life, and especially herself, was: sad, pitiful, naive and desolate.
The one who thought she was strong but ended up breaking so easily in a single moment, walked with misfortune, leaving behind everything that at some point had great value to her and now it had been taken from her.
It was terribly cold because of the rain and a violent wind that only made her feel worse because with that she could do only one thing, she remembered.
She remembered the nights of her boyfriend's absence and how she always ended up sleeping in a cold bed, which filled her with a feeling of emptiness just like the one that was suffocating her right now. It was an empty relationship, after all, about which no one questioned anything or no one dared to do so, so there was not much more to expect. In a situation like that, it is natural to think that having the ideal romance didn't really matter because everyone lived separately and independently. Thinking about it that way, it was pathetic that she hadn't anticipated everything that happened to her when, in the end, most likely it had been announced a long time ago, and she just didn't want to see it.
Perhaps even she is partly to blame.
After working for a long time in her family's company, being prepared from a young age, demonstrating her ability day by day, skipping days off, working on vacation and reducing her social life, she was certain that today she would finally be promoted... But it was not like that. Instead, she was ignored and the promotion she was entitled to was taken away by someone else.
For her, that was undoubtedly a betrayal; for him, perhaps an opportunity that meant freedom.
An opportunity that meant leaving one in the abyss.
That was her.
That betrayal ended his hopes in such a devastating way that, unable to contain himself, his only reaction, after years of enduring so much for an illusion that had just been shattered, was anger.
And so, she was fired.
Maybe deep down she wanted to get to that.
Poor woman, the rain increased more and more without rumbling. You could go to her luxurious department in the center of the city, immense and full of comforts for a couple, even though she was always alone. But she wouldn't do it, the last thing she needed was to risk meeting her executioner there.
No, she didn't want to go back to that life. She couldn't stand it anymore. She wished that, just as the rain takes everything away, it would take her away too.
She was walking to get lost, or at least that's what she wanted to believe since, in reality, she knew that she was lying to herself, she never stopped being aware of it and that it would have consequences. However, at least just for a while, she wanted to feel free.
She eventually came to a small bridge in a random park, not sure where she was or what time it was. She tried to see her reflection in the river, but the rain wouldn't let her. She thought about doing something stupid to escape, but she knew well that she wouldn't do it. She tried to cry, it was the perfect moment since with the sound of the rain no one could hear her.
She would get past that and be strong again.
But she couldn't, she couldn't cry.
And through the deafening noise of the storm, she heard… Him.
“Hey! Are you OK?”
It was a young man who looked like her age, or so it seemed to her, she couldn't distinguish him well. However, if something really captured her eyes, it was his blue locks and his eyes, also blue or perhaps... Green?
He was carrying an umbrella and was telling her something. She doesn't remember half of what happened, the only thing she could understand was that he ended up taking her to a loft in which she deduced that he lives.
The first thing she noticed about the apartment was that it was narrow and that, despite being quite far from her area, it wasn't bad either. However, to tell the truth, the more she looked at the place, the more insistently she wondered how anyone could even live in such a small space. Not because it really was that small, but because, from her perspective as part of the elite, it was difficult for her to conceive that an apartment could have dimensions smaller than the minimum to which she was accustomed due to her privileges, even if it were for a single person.
“You're going to get sick if you stay like this, do you want to take a bath or just change?”
“I…”
She didn't want to admit that a part of her was afraid, afraid that everything she once heard about how dangerous doing things carelessly can be would come true. She is a very strong woman, but she still has fears, especially at times when it is the most logical thing to have them... Like right now. After all, she went home with someone she doesn't know and is letting her guard down. Even so, everything that made her reach her limit this day caused her to let herself go and follow only her instinct, silencing the voice in her head for a moment.
“I'll take a bath.”
“Very well, I'll bring something for you to change into.”
The mysterious guy guided her to where the bathroom was and explained which was the faucet for hot water and which was for cold, as well as how she could temper them, something that, as silly as it sounded, she didn't fully understand since she had never taken a cold shower before nor had she used such a small bathroom.
While she was bathing, she let her thoughts go.
The guy was… Kind of attractive.
Maybe very attractive, actually.
She might be afraid that he could be some kind of criminal who would walk into the bathroom while she was showering, but if he did... Maybe she wouldn't mind.
Maybe she even wanted it, desperate just to escape her reality she wanted to accept anything.
However, he did not do it.
When she left the bathroom she could smell a smell throughout the room.
Freshly brewed coffee.
The room was warm and you could hear the sound of the television, and somehow in that environment you felt at ease for the first time in a long time.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“It smells very good, what coffee is it?”
“I have no idea, I bought it two days ago so I already threw away the bag that said the brand name.”
She looked at him perplexed and he let out a light laugh, something like knowing what coffee he was drinking didn't seem essential to him. Something different for her, who lived surrounded by people who spent their time admiring coffee and its qualities, tasting it every Monday morning and drinking it with rum every Friday night.
"Here you go," he put the coffee on the small table in front of the sofa. “I'm going to take a bath, you have control there, you can put whatever you like.”
"You can put whatever you like"
It wasn't entirely true, he didn't have cable TV with over two hundred different channels, nor did he have all the streaming services, so no, she couldn't watch whatever she wanted. That thought, so close to her usual life, made her realize that she actually almost never watched television. What's more, she arrived so tired from her days at work that she would just put on something random in the background to accompany her in her solitude before turning it off and going to sleep.
I never knew what to see.
Resigned, she stopped to look around the apartment. The stranger was taking a bath, she could hear the shower from where she was, which caused her a certain strange curiosity.
"Will something happen tonight?
Is he waiting for me to do something?
What am I thinking?"
Her thoughts did not leave her alone. She wanted to vent her grief with him, to forget herself.
That's why she didn't see her cell phone, at the moment she didn't have a first or last name, and that gave her a satisfaction that she had never felt before.
However, she was also afraid of doing a crazy one-night stand caused by disappointment.
When he came out of the bathroom, he saw that the young woman he took home was looking at the decorations and things in the apartment.
“Do you like vinyls? We can listen to one if you like.”
“This… Which one is this?”
She asked, taking one of all the records on the furniture.
“It's a jazz album by Miles Davis, Kind of Blue is from '59, it's really very good.”
“I want to hear”
She looked at an area of the room that looked cleaner than the rest, perfectly arranged and somewhat unique. The cabinet was full of vinyl albums, which looked old but well cared for. She supposed that he must be quite fond of it if he kept that part better than the rest, it reminded her of how she took care of her drawing materials even though she only used them twice: one when she bought them and another when she drew with her boyfriend to show him her hobbies, even though he didn't pay attention to her and didn't seem really interested at any time.
And suddenly, a sad memory triggered others.
Forgetting your old life is not something that can be done overnight, especially if you decided to abandon it no more than 6 hours ago.
So what!
But just as that young man came out of nowhere to get her out of the rain, he also came out of nowhere to get her out of her thoughts when he started the first song on the album.
The song began with a piano and a bass, a mix that did not make him distinguish the instrument, fast and with a broken rhythm, then the saxophone joined in, each highlight seemed to shout "Wake up!” until all the instruments began to harmonize in a catchy, moving and fast rhythm, as if time were fleeing. She could feel like she was listening to a song that perfectly described the rush she felt at every moment, but that song was more than that. The song had life. It wasn't a race, the saxophone seemed to tell you a story, she didn't know what it was about, but it was interesting. She turned to look at the young man, who seemed that his body kept up with the rhythm a little.
“What is this?”
“It's called "So what", it speaks to you by itself, right?”
“I don't deny it, it is particularly striking.”
She followed the rhythm little by little, without saying anything they began to dance, their bodies moved to the rhythm of the music and some laughter came out of them.
“Do you want to eat something?”
The (handsome) guy consulted with the kindness and warmth that someone can only dedicate to someone they like.
"Yes, I'm starving," she blurted out in a cheerful tone.
It didn't take him long to cook something simple with meat and vegetables for both of them. To her, he seemed increasingly strange and fascinating. She imagined he would order a hamburger or a pizza, like the stereotypes of people who don't seem to always go to restaurants, or at least that was the idea she had when she saw him.
Each song took its time.
They reached the middle of the second song when the dishes were ready, they ate while talking a little about music and even art, they never started with the usual questions, so common.
"What is your name?"
"Where do you work?"
No, nothing like that. No talking about how horrible life is. They only talked about the things that fulfilled them.
It wasn't until the third song played that everything changed.
It began with a quiet piano melody.
The piano had always been recorded in her memories, but suddenly a saxophone sounded shrillly, announcing that this song was not starring the piano, just as the man of her memories, the young man she once loved, was not the one who starred in her life, he never was. The piano was only the background that accompanied. It was important but not the main one. That was the saxophone, slow and unique. It seemed like it was speaking to him again, it was calling his attention, the piano was still there but even a slight sound from the drums was present. And once the piano became present again, there were no longer memories, it was something new. It was his own piano.
The song was sad and melancholic.
"This song reminds me of the rain a while ago," she mentioned, gently breaking the silence suddenly as she looked at the closed window.
“Do you know it's still raining?”
“I mean when I was there, why I was there…”
“You know? This is a quiet and sad song, but it shows so much more. It's elegant perhaps, perhaps lost, with messy hair, no shoes, no sweater…”
They were both sitting on the couch looking at each other while talking and listening to the song, he gently put his hand on hers as a sign of support.
“Is there any story behind it?”
"That story is too silly to tell, no, it's not something worth doing." She looked away, feeling ashamed of everything she was doing, even though she said she would let herself go.
“Silly things are only what we decide to give that meaning to. For some, music and art are nonsense, for me they have a lot of value; just like other times knowing the name of a coffee brand sounds silly to me.”
She smiled at his joke and he delicately guided the girl's chin with his fingers so that their eyes met.
“There's nothing silly about something that's made you so sick, even if it's a small thing. Nothing that has to do with your feelings is nonsense..”
The piano once again took center stage in the song as tears began to appear in her eyes.
“How can a stranger say sweeter things to me than all the people I've met so far?”
She tried to dry her tears.
“Are you going to take advantage of me?”
"You're so serious that I don't know if you're joking." He took her hands to stop her from rubbing her eyes. “If such simple words of support mean so much to you, I wouldn't want to imagine what you've been through. Come on, cry, it's okay, get it all out.”
She cried, first slowly and quietly, then a little louder, and then intensely. He took her hands, then released them and then extended his arms towards her.
He held her while she cried.
It was like the song they kept listening to, "Blue in Green."
The rest of the night would fade from her memories in the morning but at this point it was far from truly over.
After she cried, they didn't talk about it again. He told her a little about the things she seemed to have been observing, then they both started a conversation about some books, about how he was interested in various things but in the end he only focused on music. She talked about art, about the places she once traveled to from another perspective, that of her world.
They are both from different worlds.
There were some old records, which were a friend of his's collection of independent short films. They saw some interesting ones, others so bad that they brought out the best of him.
"I think it's trying to say something, maybe the part where everything goes black for like 3 minutes was a reflection on ourselves," she said.
"I think it's pretty bad and they forgot to take the cover off in that scene," he commented with a small lopsided smile.
They both laughed.
When dawn reached them, they decided to go to sleep. She in the bedroom, he on the couch. That was the idea at least, however, in an act of sincerity, she asked him to stay.
“Wait!”
She stopped him by gently placing her hand on his. I can't sleep, it's very cold.
"I'll get you another blanket then."
“No!” She responded abruptly and then, with a slight blush because her own reaction took her by surprise, continued more calmly. “I know it's bold of me asking something like this, but... I just don't want to feel the cold of sleeping alone again.”
It wasn't a very coherent sentence, she realized it as soon as she finished saying it and seeing the surprise in his expression only made her blush even more because of it, feeling uncomfortable and a little frustrated. She wasn't used to blushing or allowing her expressions to betray any vulnerability. Immediately, one part of her was deeply sorry while the other felt mostly sorry, at least until she noticed a small, warm smile curling his lips while her eyes, whose color she still could not determine, acquired a certain twinkle that made her feel something indescribable that plunged her into a strange state between an adrenaline restlessness, like someone about to encounter the first big dip on a roller coaster, and a calm bliss of deep comfort and peace, like what invades the chest of someone who finally arrives home after an exhausting day the moment they jump into bed after a hot shower.
"Good, but maybe I snore," He told her with a playful tone that awakened a small, soft giggle in a sing-song tone that she had never heard from herself before.
"I can live with that," she replied, thus ending the discussion.
And she did...
They both slept with their backs to each other and, although by that point it was undeniable since there was some tension between them, The trust that night showed that there was no need for something passionate to vent since there seemed to be a connection.
She felt it and hoped that it was like that for him too, although to her the idea sounded extremely childish.
The next morning they both woke up facing each other, hugging.
From her perspective, when she opened her eyes she found herself in an unfamiliar bed and next to her was a man who looked like an angel, for a second her mind tricked her and convinced her that they had spent the night together.
Silly fantasies that once again appeared.
However, soon her mind cleared and she began to remember the rhythm and intonation of "Flamenco sketches".
There was no conversation, just polite words, as if they had known each other all their lives.
“Do you want to have some breakfast?”
“Yes, thanks.”
She already had her previous clothes, her hair was already combed, although not as perfect as always, plus, of course, she had no shoes, and still... That was the least of it.
One of the things she couldn't throw away was her purse.
It was a lie that wandered aimlessly, deep down she always knew that at the end of the trip she would order a taxi and return home, or, rather, that was what she had planned. Evidently that unexpected and strange, friend?, had appeared to change his plans and delay them... At least until the next day.
However, it was time to wake up from the dream.
As soon as she turned on her cell phone it began to vibrate intensely due to the immense amount of messages that had been waiting for her. He noticed it but didn't comment on it. She, for her part, put the cell phone back without checking any of the messages, she wanted to wake up calmly and enjoy the last moments in the refuge she found with that endearing stranger that she would have a hard time getting out of her mind.
She had breakfast with him, not being able to help but feel that he liked her much more than most of the acquaintances she had despite being someone who was nowhere near the type of people she frequented. In a house so small, but full of treasures, she felt better than she had ever felt in the environments to which she was accustomed, enjoying a company that fulfilled her instead of making her feel empty.
He was like the coffee she was drinking, delicious like none she had ever tasted before even though she didn't know its name and it probably wasn't the kind sold in pompous, gold-stamped packaging to claim it was of a higher standard.
Addictive and at the same time heartbreakingly ephemeral.
While she focused on enjoying the last ounces of the exquisite coffee he had offered her, observing his face in detail to preserve it in her memory, he thought it would taste like that for a long time no matter that he might never hear from it again and never really heard from it anyway.
Yes, that's how he would remain in her memories.
Only in her memories.
The time to leave was near, there was nothing to cling to; So, she let go and returned to her reality.
She decided to wake up, now permanently.
“Thank you very much for everything… I have to go.”
But he reappeared, taking her hand before dropping it.
“You can come to vent again or just have coffee whenever you want.”
"Come back here? No. That would mean that this is not a dream, it would mean meeting each other and filling us with problems. Maybe get to know other jazz albums, dance and laugh at bad movies. Maybe move further... Everything that can cause us to see each other again... No... You are a dream and that's all."
“I don't think so, I live very far away”.
“You came here walking, I don't think the distance is the problem.”
“I no longer remember how I got here.”
“That sounds like an excuse, you can use the phone and save this place, but if I'm being too pushy excuse me then.”
"It's not that, I'm just scared."
“Okay, thank you for having me.”
"Strange artist.
Strange artist who doesn't pay attention to the coffee he drinks.
Strange artist, who does not pay attention to who he lets into his house and comforts.
That's what he is, a strange person.
I am leaving behind a dream, without knowing about it.
I won't pay attention to where you live, nor will I think about your eyes, green? Blue? I don't even remember them anymore.”
She left the apartment, barefoot, determined. She had had a relapse, but today she woke up, nothing had changed... Right?
"My name is Luka Couffaine, come back whenever you want," he said by the door, returning without embarrassment after the bombshell he dropped.
"Strange artist...
Luka, the artist.
Luka, the artist who doesn't pay attention to the coffee he drinks.
Luka, the one who took me out of the rain and my sadness.
Luka, the one with "blue in green" in his eyes.
A name that now I can never forget."
For her, he was unfair and that was a trap. She wanted it to just be a beautiful memory to continue with her life, but he apparently decided that he was not going to allow it. She could still leave, she had to leave, but she knew that now she wouldn't be able to forget that name... That it was real.
She kept moving forward anyway.
"Nothing can make me forget that night.
But maybe if I come back there will be more nights.
"What kind of man doesn't take advantage of your vulnerability and instead hold you until you stop crying?"
Live in the dream or live reality?
She was strong, determined and intelligent.
She made the decision for her.
She knocked on the door immediately.
“My name is Kagami Tsurugi. I'll be back tonight, so get ready.”
Once her name was said, there would be no turning back for either of them.