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Coming home from a long day at work usually comes with surprises.
Most of the time, the surprises come in the form of kisses on Rafayel's cheek. A delighted "Welcome back, my love!" accompanied by the scent of dinner (and maybe even the scent of a battlefield) was enough to remind him that he was home. But there are occasions where outside endeavors leave the home empty, leaving him to resort to other measures.
Today is an example of that. Rafayel carries a briefcase full of paint supplies in one hand, and in the other, he holds the handle of the stroller where his baby daughter sleeps. Sunlight spills onto the both of them as he walks around Linkon University to bask into the memories he once created here.
"Mr. Rafayel!" he hears from afar, and the shadow becomes a student he recognizes. "Oh! I'm sorry. Did I startle your baby?"
"She's pretty difficult to startle, Stefan," Rafayel says, eyeing her as she stays asleep in the comfort of her stroller. "So there's no need to worry. How's your art project? I heard the library hangs up your works in their collection."
And the conversation smoothly sails into territory Rafayel can talk about. The bright student fondly remembers his professor, and Rafayel can see just how much his compliments meant to this young man. Eventually it becomes a conversation about futures, which Rafayel can luckily talk about as well.
"So, you have a family now, Professor?" the student asks.
"Yeah. I can hardly believe it myself."
"Why, Professor?"
"Well…"
When the conversation begins sailing into uncharted territory, his baby interrupts with her attempt at words. She blinks once, twice, and eventually it's all she does as she stares at her father.
"Wahwah!" she shrieks, reaching for him. Her scrunched up expression warms Rafayel's heart in ways the sea never did. "Wah!"
"Looks like my baby needs me."
And with small greetings and big smiles, Stefan and Rafayel part ways. The student becomes a shadow that disappears in his periphery when he looks down to watch his daughter, wondering what she might need. His backpack may be filled to the brim with her clothes, her toys, her items, but what if he didn't have what she needed?
"Wah…" she says, "Wah-Wah-E."
Rafayel. Had his name ever sounded so lovely?
"That's right, love. Rafayel."
She smiles her bright little grin before closing her eyes again. The world disappears from her view completely, and Rafayel has to wonder how that must feel like as he continues walking. With every step comes a new memory: the library where his eyes would wander from Art History to inaccurate Lemurian History books, the museum where he had learned about Claude Monet, the cafe in which he met you… He couldn't shut the world out even if he tried.
And before Rafayel knows it, he's walked through the entire university's layout.
"I don't remember this place being so small," he says, chuckling to himself. For a moment, he forgets there is a companion who listens to every word he says, only remembering the fact when she lets out a little sneeze and his heart warms up all over again. "This must be such a gigantic place for you, little fishie."
She looks at him with wide, violet eyes.
"They say the world is your oyster, love. Everything is in your hands. But to me…" He kneels down to hold her tiny hand in his. "…to me, you're the beautiful pearl inside."
Rafayel gently toys around with her hand, eliciting little giggles from the bright sunshine. To him, those words hold weight, for only he knows how long he waited to be able to say them aloud. He never believed he would love this world enough to trust it to house his pearl, and he never thought he would want this. Not until he met you.
The sunset falls in between two of the university's buildings, sinking like ships sailing through chaotic sea waters. People come and take pictures of the orange and the pink, raving about the colors like they're a rare phenomenon, and it reminds Rafayel of sailors who scream when the sea's wrath shakes their ship. To go wild about such a common occurence beats him, but then again, isn't that what art is all about? Aren't events like this one of the reasons he fell in love with this world?
His baby begins to frown when the crowd grows, so Rafayel runs to where it's quiet. Like fate's hand is kind for once, he finds himself back to where fond memories flow seamlessly into his head: the place where he would see you order yourself dessert on special occasions as a student. The place where his students always looked forward to hanging out in, the place where desserts were equivalent to happiness.
"Wah wah!" She says, but she's no longer frowning. She blinks once, twice, until the cafe is embedded in her little memory box. Rafayel hopes hers is not that of a goldfish, laughing to himself when he sits down on a seat next to a window.
The backpack and his briefcase hold no weight to him anymore when his daughter seeks his attention through her little laughs. He remembers to give her the baby bottle you had helped prepare this morning, and he also remembers to run to the bathroom to give her a quick diaper change. None of those things even makes him sweat — if anything, her small smile after every new task makes it all worth it.
When Rafayel exits the restroom, a surprise is waiting for him on the same spot he was sitting in moments ago.
"My love!"
Rafayel blinks once, twice, until he can believe that his world is right in front of him. When he collapses in your arms, it's with laughter that pales in comparison to the excitement about the sunset and a comfort that transcends the creation of art. He hadn't known he needed this break, not until you came.
"Tired, huh?" you ask, ruffling his hair that he didn't notice was sticking out in all sorts of directions. "Whose idea was it to destress by walking around one of Linkon's largest universities?"
"Our baby's," he answers, "She likes these walks."
She chimes in with a "Wah-Wah!" and a wave to her Mama, who beams at her show of happiness. You give her a high-five behind Rafayel's back for exhausting him.
"And I guess I had the idea too." Rafayel lifts his head off of you to look back at his daughter. "I wanted her to see one of the most significant places in our love story."
"How sentimental."
You laugh when he shoots you a scoff, but he doesn't comment further when dessert shows up to your tables. A whole ice cream cake and a tiny cup of vanilla ice cream for your baby arrive like a miracle, leaving the same look of surprise from Rafayel and his daughter.
They really do look alike, you think. They have the same eyes.
The conversation falls into territory Rafayel knows about, albeit the scoops of cake he can't resist taking every two words. You tell him that your son was still looking at art exhibitions with Thomas, and the last you had heard from them was from a text Thomas had sent half an hour ago, saying that he's "very fascinated by the Claude Monet pieces, just like his father." As you feed your daughter tiny scoops of vanilla ice cream, you also tell him about your day: the wanderers you faced, the reports you signed, and the very examples of how a normal day goes.
Rafayel couldn't ask for more.