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We loved each other. Like the dancing of the fireflies in the dark bosom of night, or like the moan of grass by the touch of evening whispers of a spring evening. He was my heart companion, a part I could hardly have managed to let go, yet I did.

"Soham... look!" the pale cheeks were reddish, ivory black hair bangs rhythmically danced in front of his forehead, he was here to show me a beautiful pebble he found on the ground in our garden,but I couldn't turn my eyes from his eyes which was fixated on his hand. And my eyes... was fixated on his dark orbs behind those dark bangs, just like my whole soul, and mind fixated on him. A boy of seventeen, lean figure, wearing a white, wet shirt which is sticking by his ever so beautifully sculpted waist.

"You're not looking at it," he whined, my lips parted with awe at how beautifully he belonged in nature, those beautiful pair of lips... "you're looking everywhere but this-"

I kissed him. Without his consent. The fondest memory.

He was silent and shocked at first, but I didn't know if it was because of the humid, sunny weather, for which we were intoxicated. The buzz of beetles and other insects, the dance of butterflies under the flare of sun, the humming of bees- all of them added fuel to our sensational hedonistic urge.

And he continued by kissing me back. The greatest tragedy.

Because as time went by, I realized even though we loved each other, I loved the way he loved me not, he loved the way I loved him not. But it was too late to ponder over that.

We were the student of same school, and in the lunch break or end of the school we would muse in our music room. It was almost in our possession because everyone knew, me and him were the toughest couple of the whole school. A couple even the Gods would be jealous of.

For I created waves in my piano and he translated them through his ballet. I was Brahms of his dreams, he was my Clara... the Ray-cicerone guided the light not only with his music but also with his ballet steps.

"Why don't you two get married already, Mr. Soham Einaudi?" the director of Operam House asked at the end of our show in an afterparty , as the biggest newspapers from all around the world started gossiping about us.

"What do you think?" I asked him, he is taller, firmed, stood tall on his ground, and ever so endearingly leaning onto my shoulder, he hummed, "About what?"

"What do you think, Yibo? Let's get married."

P.S. Author is back, sorry for the longest break. and here's a new short chapter, I hope despite of this long, really annoying break, you will read it and forgive author for her longest hiatus. I am recovering from it, and taking slow steps by writing again. Please continue to support as much as you can as it will be a tremendous support to me as well. 

With love, Cattleya.