EPIGRAPH

"The misled arrows of the winged cherub 
in the sleepless city are piercing through hearts, 
making love gush out in colossal waves"

CUPID'S MUSES

Nick Bateman as Antoine Radcliffe 

Zendaya as Venus Waldorf

Phoebe Tonkin as Sylvia Caldwell

On a milk-tainted page, I began to write....

New York fleetingly bustled in a neon haze as Cupid slithered over its skyscraper-dotted horizons. The winged cherub was drenched in the midafternoon rain and seeking a muse for his next love story. Exhausted from his citywide quest for matchmaking, the angel perched upon a windowsill stealthily and settled besides a glass-partitioned building. A pandemonium of angry voices pierced the angel's ears as he grimaced. The blindfolded seraph listened closely to decipher the cause of the ongoing intense quarrel.

"You lied to me, Antoine! When I enquired about your whereabouts, you said you were at your workplace!" a trembling female voice yelled.

"Baby, you have got to trust me on this... See, I really was working that day but, had to leave due to certain circumstances," a male voice soothingly attempted calm her down.

"Oh! You were busy alright! You were with that redhead, you swore she was just a friend!"

"She is, baby. Sylvia, listen to me sweetheart, I...," Antoine's husky tone trailed off.

"I have had enough, you know. I decided to overlook all these cheating incidents in the past; I ignored my friends' warnings only to discover that my intuition had been right all long. You're just a jerk. A pathetic, pure, unadulterated jerk that doesn't recognise my worth, that doesn't know how to value a good relationship," she stated lowering her voice as the cherub gasped with horror, thinking how Antoine was utterly unworthy of ever finding love again.

"Fine. Leave. No dearth of girls in New York who are dying to date Antoine Joseph Radcliffe!"

Sylvia slammed the door behind herself as her heels clicked loudly on the cobblestone streets. Her almond-shaped eyes swelled with teardrops as Cupid heard her sobs with a soft sensation of empathy. He remembered the moments wherein he had matched the vivacious interior designer Sylvia Caldwell with the famous businessman Antoine Radcliffe and how Cupid had marvelled at their compatibility ratings, an element of his methodology to pair couples up. Disheartened by the failure of his theory to evaluate the success of various love-matches, Cupid was now even more determined to make his upcoming endeavour a triumph for love.

The winged cherub's process of choosing the people, on whom he would bestow love upon, has evolved to keep up with the digital aeon. Cupid ponders upon the various statistics of singletons in the metropolitan: a colossal number of people seek genuine connections and love. The angel adores meticulously sifting through the databases and pairing up couples, well aware of the significance of his act: he possessed the power to craft epic, Shakespearean love stories. He then proceeds to run compatibility tests to conclude whether his matchmaking attempt has been a success and finally, shoots the target with a broad-head arrow. A separate database also consisted of a blacklist: a list of people who didn't deserve love. Antoine Radcliffe was the latest addition to the lengthy compilation of names.

In the throes of melancholy, Cupid roamed from a cul-de-sac café to a quaint little flower-shop, looking for a potential matchmaking project as the post-rain sun blistered overhead. He was weary from his trip across and city and his demeanour was mellowed by the failure of Antoine and Sylvia's relationship. The tiny-winged cherub eventually felt drowsy and collapsed near Antoine's home, on his iron-grilled balcony where the raven-haired businessman sat comfortably, intricately swiping "right" on an alarming number of girls on Tinder, much to Cupid's annoyance. A poker-faced Sylvia, determined to leave the apartment, was stuffing her suitcases with all her belongings. After a few moments, Cupid mustered some strength and steadied himself in order to begin another voyage of love. The cherub wrested out what he thought was the leaden arrow of aversion from his golden quiver and aimed it at Sylvia, so that she would never be in love with the first person she sees after being shot: Antoine. Cupid wanted the petite Sylvia's heartache to cease.

To Cupid's horror, he discovered that, in his drowsy confusion, he had struck Antoine with the golden broad-head arrow of desire: the one that makes the one who was shot fall in love with the first person they see. The angel scowled as he picked up his aureate quiver, which somehow felt heavier after his catastrophic blunder and scurried past Antoine's house, cognizant of the fact that there wasn't much that Cupid could do now. The illustrious playboy was now love-struck.

"Wrong arrow, wrong person," Cupid heaved, frustrated, swaying away from the apartment.

Sylvia had stomped out of the building by then, leaving the oak-wood door gaping wide open in her wake. A subtle rustle of footsteps was heard. Antoine, now viewing the world from a rose-tinted lens, scampered towards the doorway. The svelte silhouette of a brunette came into view; she was lugging baggage towards another apartment door.

"Hey, there! Those look heavy. The elevator is out of order. Let me carry them for you," Antoine stumbled towards her and the hazel-eyed girl examined the man with raised eyebrows.

"I am Antoine Radcliffe, your neighbour!"

"I know who you are. I am Venus Waldorf. I am moving in today. Thank you for your help," her dulcet voice said with a slight smidge of a British accent.

Antoine's tall frame bent downwards, picked up the bags and effortlessly swung them over his broad shoulders. His newfound caramel-skinned muse smirked at him as she watched him struggle with the heavy bags while heading upstairs. He let out a profound sigh as they reached her apartment. Her slender fingers twisted the jingling key and invited him in for a drink as a gesture of gratitude.

Venus gleefully grasped a dewy bottle of champagne and softly twisted the cork as she poured the gleaming liquid into two tall glasses for the arrival of the newcomer in the building was a cause for celebration.

"I apologise for the mess," she chuckled, pointing towards the numerous packed carton boxes scattered around the living room.

"Oh! It's absolutely okay. Thank you for inviting me. May I ask, did you happen to acquaint yourself with the British accent?"

"I grew up in the kaleidoscopic lap of multiple cultures. I was born here, in New York and spent a large chunk of my schooling years in Paris and graduation years in London. I have spent a lot of time in Milan for work too. I adore travelling," Venus smiled reminiscently.

"Charming. What do you do?"

"I am a model. I majored in fashion. I want my work to be diverse, to reflect my essence," she stated.

The lissome Venus stepped into the balcony as her beige silk dress glittered underneath the July sunrays. With a winsome smile curled around her cherry-red lips, she gestured Antoine to join her. The businessman strolled through the corridor, enamoured by the sepia-toned portrait of Venus framed on a pastel-tinted wall. He gazed at her as the loose wavy ringlets of her hair delicately flittered in the wind while she watered the crimson roses entwined around a trellis on her verandah.

"A blueberry pie is sitting eagerly in my apartment. You must be famished after moving. Care to visit for snacks?" Antoine offered, running a hand through his raven-hued hair.

"Blueberry pie? I am sold," she giggled, reclining on an antique wooden chair, sunbathing.

Venus walked beside Antoine as they discussed the tumultuous weather, their incessantly stressful lives and the allure of New York. He would smoothly insert a flirtatious line or two, a tactic Venus had grown accustomed to, which she ignored with a doe-eyed grin.

"This is mi casa," Antoine chuckled as he held the door open for her.

Venus' high heel-clad feet sauntered across the linoleum floorboard; her eyes caught the sight of a dainty stranger shuffling through a teak cupboard.

"The blueberry pie must be so stoked to see us! Venus, I was thinking if we could go out tonight to the...," Antoine's face wore an exasperated expression as he saw Sylvia, who had now turned around and was looking at them with an amused face.

"Oh, Antoine! I was just here to pick up a folder of documents that I forgot to pack and return the keys to this apartment. But, wow, look at you, you have already moved on. Wonderful," Sylvia clapped, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Sylvia, I do not owe you an explanation. However, this is Venus, she just moved, I only invited her over for a friendly neighbourly meal. I..."

"Venus? Venus is it? Sweetheart, he'll lure you in with his sugarcoated lies and those honey-cascading eyes of his, but, sister, don't. I said, don't. He cheated on me several times. He's made a fool of me; he'll do that to you too. A girl like you is just too good for him," Sylvia scoffed as Antoine watched, gape-mouthed.

"Hey, I do not have any such intentions, I should just head home now," Venus calmly walked out of the doorway.

"Sylvia, you will not ruin my chances with her, leave me alone. What are you doing all this for? Are you jealous? Want to get back together?"

"Antoine, quit flattering yourself. You disgust me. I wouldn't want you back in a million lifetimes. I am leaving," she lashed out.

"Stay gone," Antoine huffed; his chiseled jawline heaved with rage.

The businessman took determined strides towards Venus' apartment. He just had to have a conversation with her. Antoine certainly didn't like the idea of his beloved thinking that he was a heartless playboy. Restless and nervous, he trudged upstairs and knocked. Venus opened the door with a knowing smile and stepped aside.

"That was quite a show, there," she smirked mischievously, sipping on a ceramic cup of green tea.

"Ah. You know. Our breakup wasn't as amicable as I had hoped. You know-you know how it is," he stammered.

"She didn't seem too pleased to see me there, at your house."

"Oh believe me, she's never pleased!" he chuckled bitterly, to her amusement.

Venus bit her lip, looking at the tall business tycoon questioningly.

"Anyway, I would like to take you to Toytown, the French restaurant nearby. It's just so you, Venus, it carries a unique vibe, a velvety charm and is so aesthetically pleasing. Let's go there for dinner. I have grown quite fond of you in the short span of time that I have known you," Antoine leaned back on the couch, folding the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbows, flexing his muscled arms.

"I think I know where this is going Antoine. I am a globetrotting model. I am here in New York for an assignment for two months. My work is my voyage; I go where it takes me."

"Venus. Just come to dinner. You don't have to commit to anything," a bead of sweat trickled down Antoine's forehead; Venus had a peculiar effect on him.

"Ah, you don't come across as a person who wants commitment anyway. You're very notorious amongst tabloid headlines; quite the beguiling playboy I have heard," Venus laughed.

"Oh, shed the prejudice and the scepticism, Venus; find out for yourself if those rumourmongers are right about me. Tell me, what I have to do for you to have this dinner with me," his hooded eyes peered at hers.

"Unveil the true Antoine behind this meticulously ironed tux of yours, the real person behind those gossipy magazine headlines. Why do you want me to go out with you?"

"I have made countless mistakes in the past but, I am not a person that those magazines have conjured up, I am me. It's a misconception that I am not willing to commit, I am. I care deeply about the people I love. Venus, you're a rarity. I have never been rendered speechless before. I have been in awe of you from the moment I saw you. Antoine Radcliffe is an utterly different person when he's with you; I like this version better. Now, Venus Waldorf would you care to delve into French delicacies and deep conversations with me, tonight?"

"Against my better judgment, I would love to, Antoine," Venus smiled coyly, blushing.

With that, I finished scrawling the tale of last summer in my dog-eared journal. Even though I shot the wrong person with the arrow of desire; my accidental matchmaking resulted in the pairing of a delightful couple.