The sun hid behind the dark clouds, casting shadows all over the small village of Petrichor. Green leaves on the trees sang a mellifluous song and danced with the whips of cool breeze. Milky fog blanketed the hills, hiding their peaks from view.

Giselle slammed the door of her passenger seat shut, making it groan. She closed her eyes, a small smile on her face despite the heaviness settling inside her heart. They were in Petrichor.

She looked at the white-painted house in front of her, nostalgia hitting her like a brick. She didn't remember much before the age of five when they'd permanently moved to Phoenix. But every year, without skipping, Giselle, Abbott, and her mother Rose used to visit Petrichor for a week. Now it was only the two of them left on their yearly visits to Rose's grave.

Abbott placed his hand on Giselle's back when she stood staring at the house for a bit too long. She smiled sideways at her father, then they entered past the brown main door. It looked smaller than she remembered, certainly small in comparison to their bungalow back in the city, but there was something warm about this cottage-like house with its small backyard that brought back memories of happiness and laughter every time she was there.

Giselle took in the familiar scent of wet grass and coal smoke as she looked around her childhood home. The mirrors shone, the clean, wooden floor creaked beneath her shoes, and the furniture sparkled.

Their elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Whitman, hurried toward them from the kitchen. "Oh, welcome, welcome!" she said, giving a small bow to Abbott who reciprocated with a nod of his own. Then she wrapped up Giselle in a warm embrace.

She'd been the housekeeper of this house and her mother's lady's maid (and a companion) for as long as Giselle could remember. After Rose's death, she lived with them in Phoenix for another year, before Abbott transferred her to Petrichor to live in this house. Giselle wondered if it was because she reminded him of Rose too much.

Mrs. Whitman placed her hands on Giselle's face and frowned, her wrinkles getting more prominent. "You've lost so much weight, dear."

Giselle smiled at her. "I look the same to me, Mrs. Whitman."

She clicked her tongue. "Nonsense. We'll have to fix it." She turned to Abbott. "I hope everything is in order, Mr. Beaumont."

He nodded. "I hope you're well, Ruth. How have you been this year?"

"Oh, good good. There was nothing to do, so I spent most of the time with my grandchildren." Giselle smiled because that was one of the main reasons why her father had transferred her to Petrichor. "I have also been visiting Rose's grave every week with a bouquet of red roses, just as you asked me to."

"Thank you. You're irreplaceable," said Abbot with a small smile.

Her cheeks tinted a slight shade of pink, and she said, "Well, lunch will be served in a few minutes, and then I'll be out of your hair."

She retreated to the kitchen, and Giselle let out a sigh. It wasn't just Abbott she reminded Rose of. She remembered Mrs. Whitman laughing with her mother as they created new recipes in the kitchen or when they'd garden together. Mrs. Whitman had even nursed Rose on her deathbed, shedding silent tears at what was to come.

The chauffeur walked past them with their luggage. Abbott took his bag himself, uttering words of gratitude, and Giselle's backpack was delivered to her room.

She heard her father exhale a shaky breath, and without a word, he walked toward his room, his back hunched and shoulders slumped. She stared at him till his door closed, then let out a sigh of her own. Folding her arms over her pink shirtdress, she ignored the tightness inside her chest or the sting in the corners of her eyes. She hated what Petrichor did to him. She hated everything that reminded him of his wife. Ever since her mother had died, it was as if she'd also lost a part of her father.

The death of a loved one was a wound that never healed, not even with the band-aid of time. It left a void behind, one that no one could fill. It got bearable with every passing day, but every time that wound was touched, the blood oozed out.

She headed to her room next to her father's. The wall beside her door was dotted with picture frames that told a nostalgic story. There were photos of when she was a little girl. In some pictures, her mother held her close to her chest; in one, Giselle was dressed like a star for School's play and posed in front of the camera; and in others, her parents stood side by side, smiling whole-heartedly.

Her mother's soft voice rang through her ears in echoes, consuming her whole.

"Giselle, stop it. Stop running. Abbott, why don't you say anything to her?" her mother had said.

"What have I done?" asked Abbott in a panic, peaking from his newspaper. Giselle had giggled at their banter.

"Not you! Tell your daughter to stop running before she hurts herself."

"Okay, dear. Giselle?"

"Yes, daddy?" she'd said in her small voice, halting mid-run.

"You, she replies to!" said Rose, folding her arms.

"That's because she loves me more." He'd turned to Giselle. "Right, honey?"

"No," she remembered saying, "it's because you give me candy!"

Her mother had gasped. "Abbott!"

Giselle blinked, the flashback of bittersweet memories ending with a pang in her heart. Heaving a sigh, she walked inside her room, closed the door behind her, and the pink walls greeted her.

She had two plans for the day. The first one was to visit her mother's grave, but she didn't want to go with her father. She had an unrealistic image of him stored inside her head and didn't care how unreasonable she was for wanting him to never break down. Because if she saw him cry, she didn't trust herself to keep it together.

The second plan was to meet Xavier. She let out a long breath, excitement starting to settle in. Pulling her phone out from her backpack, she sent him a message.

Giselle: I've arrived. Let's meet.

Xavier: I was wondering why it was getting easier to breathe in Petrichor.

She grinned at her phone.

Giselle: Stoppp. Where are you?

Xavier: Guess where.

At their secret spot. It was a few blocks away from the park where they'd eye each other. She'd see him every year she used to visit Petrichor with her family. Xavier had later told her over text, once they became friends, that he'd memorized the dates of her yearly visits to his village just so he could see her at the park.

Giselle: I'll be there in thirty minutes.

Xavier: Can't wait to see you, my love.

She bit her lip. Her phone buzzed again, and she opened it to see who it was.

Chris: Reached, Pigtails?

Giselle: Reached, Worry-bat.

She placed the phone on her bed, searched her bag, and took out the blue sweater Chris had gifted her on her twenty-second birthday. She paired it with blue jeans and started getting ready. Her hands shook a little when she put on her jewelry and applied soft makeup. She wore her outfit and braided her hair to the side, then stood in front of the mirror, examining her reflection.

Satisfied with the way she looked, she slipped into her flip-flops, grabbed her phone, and headed out of her room to eat lunch.

Once seated on the wooden dining table with her father, she gobbled down the food. Mrs. Whitman had made rice with fried chicken, and it was every bit as delicious as her mother used to make.

"Are you going somewhere?" asked Abbott.

Her voice shook a little, "Oh, um, just going out for a walk. The weather is nice. I might catch up with someone..."

He eyed her. "I didn't know you had friends here."

"Oh, they're not friends," she said with her mouth full, not entirely lying. "I just know them from our visits here every year."

"Right, right." They ate in silence for a few moments, then he casually said, "What about your mother?"

Blood rushed to her cheeks. "I'll be there after you get back. Um, I wanna visit her by myself... If that's okay."

Abbott smiled at her, his dimples digging into his cheeks. "It's okay. You can visit her whenever you want, however you want. Just know that I'm here for you."

She blinked at him a few times, then looked down at her food, gulped, and nodded. "Thanks, Dad." She wondered how father always knew the right thing to say.

Abbott patted his mouth with the napkin, then placed it on the table and said, "I'm going to the graveyard. Don't go too far. Okay, honey?" She nodded. "Ruth was telling me about this gang that's been terrorizing Petrichor. I want you to be careful."

"What gang?" asked Giselle.

He shrugged. "Maybe it's a fragment of her imagination, but she said something along the lines of 'black leather' and 'wrath' and 'murders' and whatnot."

She pursed her lips. "I'll be careful."

"Got your pepper spray?" he asked.

"Always."

"Strong girl." He got up and kissed her on the head before ruffling her hair. She grinned.

He left without another word. She headed out after a few minutes, too, in the opposite direction. Her flip flops ever so slightly sunk into the mud here and there as she made her way toward the vast, green field on a soft steep going upwards to the peak of the mountain.

Giselle reached her destination after a ten-minute climb. The land was surrounded by trees, large rocks gathered to form a seating area, and a carpet of fresh grass spread far and wide. She gave it a once-over searching for Xavier, but he wasn't there yet.

She took off her flip-flops and placed her bare feet on the slightly wet grass. The scent of recently rained-upon ground eased her nerves, so she took a deep breath. She looked up at the sky as the clouds grumbled and growled again, ready to shower her.

The weather today was exactly the same as two years ago when Xavier had first approached her. Before that day, every Summer Giselle would visit Petrichor for a few days with her parents, and she'd spend her time reading in the park. And every day, without fail, she'd see a man clad in all black sitting on the farthest bench, immersed in his phone. Every time their eyes met, heat would crawl up to her cheeks. It went on for five years. They'd see each other, smile, and get back to their solitude.

And then her mother died. Rose had made Abbott promise a few days before cancer claimed her life, for him to bury her in Petrichor. So, that unfortunate September, they were in the village to fulfill that promise. Chris had his exams in college, and despite his claims that he didn't care if he failed and that he'd retake the exams, she'd convinced him that a week's delay of his presence made no difference.

Though it did. She'd felt utterly alone as she walked in the field one morning, a few days after the burial. They were supposed to leave the next day, and the emptiness she felt after her mother's death was only increasing. Nothing in her life seemed to make her feel better. She dreaded going back to the huge house in the city where her mother's laughter didn't echo, and she hated being in the village where she was buried six feet under.

It had only been a few days to her death, so emotions overwhelmed her, and she sat on the ground as the thunder clapped above her head. She gasped with the pain she'd kept inside during her mother's long illness and then her death. The rain didn't start slow, it poured down in sheets and drenched her from head to toe instantly. She shivered under the rain and cried as loud as she could, wondering if she'd ever get such an opportunity again.

When she looked up, a man was sitting in front of her, his hands tied around his knees, his head down as if silently listening to her. Giselle stifled her cries, choking on her breaths. He looked up at her. Although it was hard to see anything under the pouring rain that drenched them, she recognized the man she'd waved at every year. 

He said nothing, just offered her his hand. She shuddered with a silent sob and placed her hand in his without hesitation. He nodded at her and she let herself break down. Her warm tears were a contrast to the cold raindrops that pierced her skin.

The entire time it rained, she cried herself hoarse. He held her hand firmly, his head hanging. When the downpour transitioned into a gentle splatter and the clouds gave way to the light, he looked up at her. Their eyes met. She let out a shuddering breath, embarrassed at her breakdown.

Tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear with the hand he wasn't holding, she'd whispered, "I'm sorry."

And he'd spoken his first words to her, "I'm here for you."

They'd spent the entire day talking about nothing in particular and exchanged numbers by the time she left for the city. They texted back and forth the whole year after, talking about the most random things.

Although he was only two years older than her, he sounded mature and understanding through his words, and without warning, she was starting to fall for him. He resembled the grumpy love interest from a romance book she'd once read, and she felt lucky to be his sunshine.

"My love." Xavier's warm breath tickled her ear, snapping her out of her thoughts. He placed a kiss on the side of her neck that sent soft tingles through her.

Letting out the breath she didn't know she held, Giselle turned around, her braid hitting him.

Without a look at his face, she wrapped her arms around his muscled body and he held her, his leather jacket scraping her face and umbrella digging into her back slightly.

He didn't feel familiar, for this was the second time they'd embraced. The first time they'd met after a year of text-friendship, it was her mother's first death anniversary, and it had taken them her entire visit to confess that they were interested in something more. The first time they'd hugged was before the day she was supposed to leave for Phoenix.

The year after was the start of their long-distance relationship. This was the first time she'd seen him after they became involved, and she was excited to see if he was as romantic as his texts painted him to be.

I'll experience being Xavier's girlfriend this week, she thought happily, breaking the hug. But when she looked at his face, her smile faltered.