The streets are empty aside from the occasional car driving by. My legs are shaking so much at this point that I just fall into the next bench I pass by, and drop my head down to my knees.

I keep one hand clasped over my mouth - both to muffle my sobs, and in case this feeling of nausea turns out to be something more. I wrap my other hand around my waist in a feeble attempt at a self-hug. I hold myself as close as I can, because I'm afraid that if I don't, I'll fall apart even more.

My tears are still falling, and my heart hurts. Tom. Oh, Tom. I love you, Tom.

It's weird, because although I know what I saw, my brain feels incapable of processing it. And worse than the hurt I'm feeling for myself, I'm afraid I was too harsh on Tom. I'm scared that I hurt Tom's feelings - how ridiculous is that?

Eventually, my pride takes over and I force myself to stop crying. No one's walked by and seen me crying yet, but I don't want that possibility to become a reality. I take a deep breath and hastily wipe away my tears. My face still feels damp, but it's better than the rolling droplets of sorrow, which I've basically rubbed into my skin.

The changing season brings a chilly gust of wind my way, and I shiver. I wish that I was wearing something warmer, or that I was in my car, so that I wouldn't be facing the blunt of this weather. But both of those would require me to go home, and I can't even bring myself to consider that as an option. I told Tom that he'd better get out by eight tomorrow morning, and though I don't know if he'll actually do it, I'm not going to bother going back before then.

I lightly tap on both my cheeks simultaneously to bring me back to reality, and finally take a look around. I've walked about a kilometer from home, and I'm on the outskirts of the center of the small town Tom and I live in. A little ways down the street, there's a small complex of shops, right off an intersection.

Just as I push Tom as far back in my mind as I possibly can, my stomach decides to remind me about its state-of-being-empty by growling - loudly. I gather up my strength and walk in the direction of the shopping complex.

Walking past all sorts of shops - apparel, home & decor, and even a place dedicated solely to gardening - I come across a cafe. The inviting smell of coffee hangs in the air outside the door and swarms my senses. I guess I'll get my food and coffee from here, since I didn't get a chance to get my daily dose of caffeine at work this morning.

A gentle jingle sounds from above my head when I pull the door open. It's a picturesque place, with dark brown decor, and fairy lights lighting up the dark. The cafe is mostly empty, the only people I see are a group of teenagers sitting in the back.

Wait, no - there's also a small girl in line in front of me. She can't be more than eight, with hazelnut waves of hair reaching all the way down to her waist, and a rainbow backpack slung over one shoulder. She's clutching a ten in her fist, looking up at a woman managing the cashier. "Um, can I get one large black coffee for my Daddy, please?"

"That's going to be $5.95. Anything else?" The lady speaks in a monotone voice, with a beyond-bored expression on her face.

I see the child in front of me hesitate, and all innate motherly instincts in me come alive. I step up, and place a gentle hand on the girl's back, handing the woman behind the counter a twenty from my phone wallet. "Could you add a latte to that? Side medium, please."

I crouch so that I'm eye-to-eye with the little girl. "Hiya sweetheart, I think you're a little too young for coffee just yet, but is there anything you'd like to get?" She stares at me and I smile warmly, not wanting to scare the child. "Would you like some hot chocolate, dear?" This sentence causes her eyes to light up. Score. Being an aunt has trained me well - I must thank my cousin for birthing two lovely sons. "And one large hot chocolate for the little lady here too, please," I say, addressing the woman behind the counter.

"I'm Marabella," the girl introduces herself once we grab a seat, waiting for our drinks to come. I didn't order food yet because I didn't want to delay the arrival of Marabell's order. I want to see her off safely - I can always get something to eat once her parents come pick her up.

"That's a really pretty name! I think I might have to change my name to that - if you don't mind?" I tease Marabella, and am glad to see her catching on.

She pretends to think for a moment, stroking a pretend beard on her chin before replying, "What's your name? Maybe we can trade."

"My name is Diamond."

Her eyes widen. "That's way prettier than my name," she pouts. "Are you sure you want my name? Because then I wanna switch."

"I think your name is beautiful," I reassure her. "But we can switch for a while if that's what'd you'd like to do."

There's an air of mischief surrounding the child in front of me when she says, "Okay then, Marabella, what's your favorite color?"

"Well, Diamond," I play along, "I like yellow, like sunflowers." My thoughts drift off to my first date with Tom - he'd brought me sunflowers; they were so pretty. He'd told me they reminded him of me.

I quickly amend my statement, "Actually, blue's a pretty cool color."

***************************

We go back and forth for a while. I learn that Marabella is eight years old and has just started third grade.

It's been a little while and I'm starting to wonder, "Hey, Diamond, where are your parents, darling?"

A look of uncertainty falls across Marabella's features, but it disappears as she says, "My Daddy is outside. We came here because he wanted to get coffee, but someone called him, so he has to talk to them. I wanted to help him, so I said I'd get his coffee for him." Her eyes glow with pride at the thought of helping her "Daddy" out, and I can't help seeing the similarity between our love for our fathers.

"I even used my own money to get it!" She shows me the crumpled up ten in her hand before realizing, "Wait, I didn't. Do you want it? You should have it."

I stare at the child aghast. "No, no, honey. That's your money. Please keep it."

"Two coffees and a hot chocolate," the barista calls out.

I motion for Marabella to follow me, then hand her the hot chocolate, and pick up the coffees. Her father still hasn't come inside, and I don't want her walking through the parking lot alone.

"Let's go find your Daddy." I push the door open and allow Marabella to pass me before walking out behind her. "I'm going to hold his coffee for him, alright?"

"Okay! Follow me, Marabella!" she exclaims, still playing our name-switching game.

***************************

Marabella leads me to a more deserted section of the parking lot. I see an old Toyota Camry, which I assume is the car she came here in. In front of the car is a tall man with brown curly hair and broad shoulders. He's on the phone, and I hear him growl, "Oliver, I want you to stop calling me." He cuts the call.

The anger rolling off the man makes me want to pull Marabella close to me, but she runs off in his direction. "Daddy!"

I see him turn toward her and lift her in his arms - hot chocolate, rainbow backpack, and all. My eyes meet brown curls, broad shoulders, and a lopsided tie.

I stop mid-step, maybe five feet away from the father-daughter duo. All thoughts of what I was going to say to Marabella's parent fly out of my head. It's the elevator man from this morning, my mind screams helpfully.

I tell it to shut up.

It seems the man has now seen me too because his face mirrors my expression of astonishment.

"Miss Diademe?" he gasps.

"Daddy no! That's Marabella," the child in his arms points at me. "And I'm Diamond." Marabella taps his head as she scolds him for interrupting our game.

"Marabella," the man says in a low voice, and I watch as Marabella shrinks in response.

The exchange between the two - mostly the timid look on Marabella's face - startles me out of whatever state of shock I'm in. I step closer and nod my head in greeting, seeing as both my hands are currently occupied.

But before I can say anything, the man beats me to it, "Miss Diademe, I'm not entirely sure how you two met, but I am so sorry if Marabella disturbed you. She, uh, can be similar to a firecracker at times."

"Please, it's Diamond," I correct him. Hearing my unique surname outside the four walls of the office building is making me cringe. "And it was no trouble at all. We were just playing a game - Marabella's been very sweet and respectful."

Marabella beams and then tries to wiggle out of her father's arms. He carefully sets her down and she stands right next to him, almost behind him. So the child has a bashful side too. My adoration for children peeks through, and I'm squealing in my head. She's too adorable!

The man opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted when Marabella suddenly tugs on his pant leg urgently. I can only observe as the man looks down, and she makes him lean down until his ear is to her lips. She whispers into his ear, and I see him frown disapprovingly. He says something back, but I can't hear that either.

Finally, both straighten out, and the man reaches into his pocket and hands Marabella the keys to the car. "Go sit in the car and put on your seatbelt, honey. I'll be there in five minutes."

There's a beeping noise and the taillights flash. Marabella disappears into the backseat of the car. Now it's just me and the man standing two feet in front of me.

An awkward silence ensues for a few long seconds before he interrupts it. "Oh, God. I didn't introduce myself. I'm Elliott Evans."

Elliott. "Elliott." My tongue tries out the name. It's a soft name, but hard at the same time. Quiet, but proud. And I decide: it's impossible to say without already having a smile on your face. "It's nice to properly meet you."

I don't know what else to say, so my eyes drop to my hands. My hands. "Oh! I have your coffee," I say, extending the taller cup toward him.

He takes it cautiously. Now we're both just gripping our respective drinks. Somehow, I'm not entirely opposed to this silence between us. Either way, I decide that it's time we part.

"Miss Diademe? Diamond, sorry." My eyes fly up to the man's - no, Elliott's, I remind myself - eyes. "If - if you don't mind me asking, is everything okay, Diamond?"

Everything okay? The words echo in my head. I stare at him blankly. What makes him say that?

Instinctively, my hand touches the corner of my eye - just to ensure that I haven't started crying again - My hand comes back with a streak of black. My mascara. Oh no. I realize my whole face is probably a mess, especially since I wiped away my tears so carelessly.

I open my mouth to tell him that I'm fine, that it's all good, but the lie gets lodged in my throat. I suck in a deep breath and try again, "Uh, it's just been a long day." At least it's not a lie.

He watches me silently. His face is completely straight, and I don't know what's going on in his mind. I don't like not knowing if he's judging me or pitying me or just acknowledging my existence as a fellow human being. Maybe he's thinking? I don't even know that.

"I know I don't like being alone after a long day," he begins gently, "We're going home for dinner now - you're welcome to join us if you'd like. Maybe end this long day with some company and food?"

Well, this came out of the blue. My plan was to get food from the cafe and then call an Uber to my parents' currently vacant home. I'm pretty sure they've left for the airport by now. But now... it would appear that I have another option. But... he's also my subordinate at work, even if I have no clue what department he works for, or who he works under. This would be wrong, wouldn't it?

It seems Elliott has just recognized the slight unprofessionalism in his offer too. I still haven't said anything to him, and I can see that I've made this awkward. I should just politely decline.

"Um, I realize that that was inappropriate of me, actually." Elliott turns his head to the side, away from me. " I understand if I've made you uncomfortable. But... it's just Marabella and I. And, uh, the offer's still open, I guess, because I definitely don't mind if you don't."

A pink tongue darts out of Elliott's mouth and flicks over his top lip - a nervous tick, perhaps. Oh my, his lips. His lips are pointy and pigmented a dark pink. They blend nicely with his caramel skin. Elliott's a blend of characteristics that work together to create a masterpiece-of-a-man. His features are so different from Tom's startling ones. Tom. I almost gasp the name aloud with the amount of pain it causes me.

I shouldn't go. But I want to. I shouldn't even want to, really. But I do. I wonder if this is all a weird coincidence, or if it was already written for us to meet again like so? I'm not one to believe in fate and such, but I'm starting to think: maybe, just maybe, there is such a thing. Who knows? Whatever it may be, this could be a good distraction for me.

I check my phone for the time, but falter when I see my wallpaper - it's a picture I'd taken of Tom when he wasn't paying attention. My heart clenches. Tom. Oh, Tom. I love you Tom.

"I'll come for dinner if that's okay," I say.

***************************

I sit in the passenger seat of Elliott's car. He's driving while Marabella is stretched across the backseat.

I listen attentively as the third-grader excitedly prattles on and on about her day at school.

Apparently, some boy kissed a girl, and this behavior understandably caused a ruckus on the playground at recess. The details are a little fuzzy since she bounces from topic to topic, only occasionally coming back to the story, but I'm trying my best to follow along.

"And then, Charlie turned to me and asked if he could kiss me-"

I see Elliott's hand tighten around the steering wheel as his other practically strangles his cup of coffee.

"-and I screamed and ran away, of course. I'm very fast, you know. In gym class, only two boys are faster than me, but I'm the fastest girl."

Elliott finally exhales. I see his shoulders relax.

I snort at his overprotectiveness, and he turns to look at me. My eyes widen as they look forward, though, because we're fast approaching a red light.

He quickly catches on, pressing down on the break, just a little too abruptly. My coffee sloshes around in the cup, and some splashes on to me. I'd been sipping at it because it was quite hot, and now, against my skin, I am reassured of the coffee's high temperature.

In a knee-jerk reaction, my lips part. "Oh, f-" WAIT! My mind screeches at me. There's a child in the backseat! In a split second, without realizing what's coming out of my mouth, I finish the curse, "-or the love of unicorns!"

There's a moment of silence. The burn of the coffee is long forgotten, and now, it's my cheeks which burn.

Then, I hear a giggle, followed by a loud, childish snort. "That's a new one," Marabella says. "Daddy usually just says fuck!"

"Marabella!" Elliott hisses.

I blink. And then join in Marabella's giggling. Thanks to her outburst, I'm no longer embarrassed, but I have a feeling that the man beside me might be.

My eyes fall on Elliott's figure. He's taking a sip of his coffee as he drives, completely oblivious to my gaze. There's a tinge of pink spread all throughout his face. So he blushes like a normal person. Noted.

It's weird - the longer I look at him, the more I am unable to pull my eyes away. A curl of hair has escaped the unruly mess on top of his head, and falls just in front of his face - on the side closest to me. Before I can stop to think about my actions, my hand reaches out and tenderly tucks the hair behind his ear.

"So now, you won't miss the red lights."

The rest of the ride is silent - save for Marabella, who continues her story. Elliott keeps driving, and I am content looking out of the window, unable to meet his sparkling brown eyes.

***************************

Elliott takes us away from the familiar streets of Vancouver's suburbs, and into what I can only call: the wild. Bright lights and skyscrapers are replaced by fireflies and trees which look to be older than the ages of all members of the Board of Directors combined. It's impressive because they're mostly all stuffy old men.

When we finally pull up into a long driveway, it's almost dark - a consequence of the short mid-September days. Elliott and Marabella's home is still some 15 feet up ahead, and from where I'm standing, it's huge. It's a ranch-style home that appears to be perpendicular to the driveway, and definitely over 100 feet long.

All around, there's open land, and the property's bordered by sparse 50-foot tall evergreens. My considerably large-sized suburban home now feels insignificant compared to the expanse of land I'm surrounded by.

I can tell we're far from most human civilization because I can even see the stars. There's so much open air to breathe - and so much freedom in that air. It's both exhilarating and an almost eerie change from my life of cramped buildings and constant light pollution.

"Come on, Diamond, I wanna show you inside!" A voice calls out in the dark - Marabella. Sometime along the lengthy car ride, she'd decided that our switched names were hard to keep track of, and she'd gone to calling me my own name.

I move to follow her and find myself staring at the ground, not wanting to trip in this near-dark. A large hand extends out of the dark. It's accompanied by a similarly imposing man. Elliott. "I know it's dark, I'll lead you in."

I know I was the one who'd taken action first, initiating whatever sort of intimacy there might be between us, but seeing his hand reach for mine, it's all I can do to not visibly recoil. I grasp my now empty cup of coffee with both hands and nod towards him. "I'll follow behind you."

If my actions bother him, Elliott doesn't let it show. He just nods back at me respectfully and takes the lead, walking towards his home.

I was rude, I know. But I'm scared. For a moment, when I saw his hand reach out, I'd seen Tom's smooth, milky white hand instead of the rough, calloused, and melanin-rich hand belonging to Elliott. For a moment, I had wished that it was Tom's hand, not Elliott's.

Oh, God. I want to cry now.

But I can't, so I take deep breaths instead, taking in the clean, crisp air around me. I follow my feet, looking around at everything, and seeing nothing at all in the dark.

***************************

It takes Elliott all but a second to unlock the front door with a key he pulls from the depths of his pockets. As he pushes the door open, I can't make anything out of the dark. Then, with the flip of a single switch, it seems as though the whole house is bathed in light.

I find myself looking into a spacious living room, with dark wood flooring and similarly dark accenting decor. It's a warm home. There are lamps in the corners of the room, but the ceiling is rimmed with a trail of light, and there are ceiling light fixtures too. What captures my attention most, however, is that instead of a back wall, there's panel after panel of glass. Windows. I have a clear view of the backyard, which includes even more open land than the front, a pathway to the woods on the edge of the property, and a sizable covered gazebo.

"Wow." It's the only thing that comes out of my mouth. I've only seen the one room, and I'm already smitten by the beauty of this home. "It's... actually, gorgeous isn't apt to describe this place."

Marabella's already skipped off somewhere in this vast house, but Elliott remains beside me. "Thank you," he says.

He slips off his shoes and puts them neatly on a mat beside the door. I follow suit, balancing on one leg as I tug off a heel at a time. Thankfully, Elliott doesn't say anything when I stand up on two feet again. He just walks forward, and I follow behind him.

"It was a gift from both of my grandparents," he says. "My grandfather left me the land in his will, and when he died, my grandmother financed the construction of this place in accordance with my architectural planning. She furnished most of this place too, actually, now that I think of it." He's led me to the kitchen. It's featured the same warm theme as the rest of the house and is equipped with modern appliances.

"I'm sorry about your grandfather, Elliott. It's not fair that such a loss was required for this beautiful home to come into being." I'm looking up at him, with my face every bit the disaster it was this afternoon, I'm sure. But he hasn't looked away. He towers over me, and I'm starting to feel insecure about my height.

"It's okay. He was happy at the end, so... I guess that makes it okay." Elliott's eyes are cutting through me now. I wonder what he's seeing.

A voice rings out through the house, "Daddy, I need help!"

A laugh bubbles out of my mouth. "I think you should check up on that."

"I - yeah, I probably should. I'll also get you something for that," Elliott gestures towards my chest.

I look down and find a dark stain from the earlier spilled coffee spread across the top half of my dress. It doesn't bother me since I know it'll come out in the wash. I look back up to tell him that it's not necessary, but Elliott has already walked away.

Not knowing what to do with myself, I take a seat on a stool in the back of the kitchen. I risk a peek at my phone: two missed calls from Mumma, 13 missed calls from Tom, seven voicemails from Tom, and numerous texts. The excess amount of notifications make it possible for me to ignore my wallpaper and unlock my phone.

The first thing I do is change my wallpaper to one of the default options on my phone - a plain slate of gray. Next, I check the time of my mother's calls - it's been about an hour now, so she must have called when I was back at the cafe. There's a text from her too: "We have boarded. We love you. We'll call again when we land." Judging by the second sentence, I'm willing to bet that Papa was the one texting from Mumma's phone. Mumma loves me, but verbalizing it or typing it out is something she "doesn't believe in".

I've just turned on my ringer and am about to put my phone down in my lap when the screen flashes, showing me a picture of Tom. My ringtone beeps loudly. All of a sudden, it's like I've forgotten how to breathe. Do I pick up? Thirteen missed calls and seven voicemails aren't insignificant. But what can I even say to Tom? What can he say to me?

With my heart heavy in my chest, I decline the call and then block his contact. No texts, no calls, no voicemails. If thinking his name itself hurts, I don't even want to know what hearing his voice will do to me.

I look up just as Marabella skips into the kitchen with Elliott in tow. He's holding a pile of clothing, with a hand towel at the top of the heap.

"These are just some old sweatpants and a t-shirt - all washed of course," he says, handing off everything in his arms. "And the towel is just in case you'd like to freshen up a little."

Oh yes, I definitely need to wash my face. It's still a mess. Maybe fixing the mess of my face will make my whole being feel less like a mess. Cleaning up one mess at a time and all that.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do this, but I really appreciate it, Elliott." I know it seems like I'm just referring to the clothes and towel, but I really mean it for everything. Elliott's being so sweet and caring, and I'm full of nothing but thankfulness for him. I think that if I hadn't met him again, I'd be sitting in my parents' home right now, eating ice cream all alone, and saying that "all men are trash".

Elliott may not know it, but he sure is preserving my somewhat high regard for the male species.

He just smiles and points, "If you go down the hallway, the second door on your right is a washroom."

A second thank you leaves my lips as I go to follow his directions.

***************************

I step into the half bath and lock the door behind me after turning the lights on. Setting the clothes on the closed toilet lid behind me, I turn to the sink. I splash water on my face and wipe my face until it's as clear of mascara as I can get it. My lipstick hasn't completely come off, but it's faded enough to the point where my lips' color looks more like my own than the deep red I'd applied this morning.

I reach back for the towel and meticulously pat my face dry before peeling my tight dress off of my body. My plain brown eyes stare dully into their own reflections in the mirror. Then, they trace down the rest of my face, raking over my average-sized lips - not too thin, but not overly pouty either - and my almost-black, brown hair, which falls in natural ringlets a little below my shoulders. My eyes fall lower, down to the rest of my figure. I have what Mumma likes to call "a strong build", which consists of semi-broad shoulders, a considerable bust, wide hips, and a nearly negligible thigh gap. Despite my disappointing legs, I'd worked hard to achieve a flat stomach - something most Punjabi's find difficult to do; in part due to genetics, and the other due to our delectable cuisine - but it rounds out if I ever eat too much. Now though, I can swear it's more concave in shape since the only thing I've eaten today is an apple.

I wouldn't call myself the most beautiful woman I know, but I consider myself to be decent at least. I'd been bold enough to even consider myself attractive on a few nights when I'd had a little too much to drink. But I guess I was wrong. My hands grip the sides of the sink as I lean in closer, seeing more. Seeing all the faded scars from my teenage acne, my too-thick eyebrows, and the huge knob on my face I'd accepted as my nose.

No part of me is small and dainty like all the women I'm usually surrounded by, and it used to make me feel self-conscious. But Tom came along and told me I was beautiful. When did beautiful and masculine become synonyms? Clearly that's why Tom said that to me; my features reminded Tom of a man. And of course, it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough.

I feel ugly as I pull on Elliott's black sweatpants. I feel fat when I realize they're not all too loose in the back. I feel my empty stomach twisting painfully when I wear Elliott's t-shirt. And a tear escapes my eye when I look back up into the mirror.

"Hey Diamond," a voice calls out, "Are you coming?"

It's Marabella.

I manage to sound normal as I reply, "Just a minute, I'll be there."

I fold up my dress and the towel, slip my phone into the pocket of Elliott's sweats, and wipe away the lonesome tear.

I forget I am Diamond, and feel like a hideous ogre.

***************************

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