Setting Sun
Michael stared at me with that familiar, stern expression as the waiter placed our orders on the table. I let out a long, slow sigh, feeling the tension between us stretch like a taut wire. Michael stayed silent, his gaze fixed on me, waiting patiently for the storm brewing inside me to settle. He took a sip of his caramel latte, the scent of sugar and espresso mingling in the air between us, and then finally broke the silence.
"Who was the girl?" he asked, his voice steady but with a trace of curiosity.
I didn't need to ask who he meant. "Just a random girl," I replied, my tone casual, though I knew that wouldn't fly with him.
"A random girl?" Michael echoed, his disbelief obvious, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Can I ask her name, then?"
He knew I didn't talk to *random girls*. Not with how guarded I usually was. My face betrayed nothing, but inside, I wrestled with the fact that neither of us had exchanged names. I hadn't asked. All I could remember were her eyes, her smile, and that delicate sketch of a snowflake she left behind.
"Snowflake," I muttered, mostly to myself.
"Her name is Snowflake?" Michael raised an eyebrow, scepticism clear in his tone.
I wasn't in the mood to explain. Nodding curtly, I watched as his frown deepened. He didn't believe me. Not that it mattered. What did matter was his decision about the competition.
"So," I said, steering the conversation to what I actually cared about, "what's your decision? Am I in?"
I took a sip of my black coffee, its bitterness coating my tongue, reminding me of my own life. Michael ran a hand through his silver hair, sighing as if the weight of the decision pressed down on him. I could see the answer on his face before he even spoke. Damn it.
"Aubrey," he began, his voice measured, "I think it's best if you participate."
"Why is that?" I forced myself to stay calm, though anger simmered beneath the surface, slipping into my words. I took another sip, hoping the coffee would help me swallow my frustration.
"Why should I compete, Michael? You know what happens if I do. I'll never escape the music industry. I'll never get away from my father."
Michael glanced around the café, checking if anyone was within earshot. Leaning in slightly, his voice dropped to a near whisper. "Aubrey, seeing you with a paintbrush again—it's like watching a dream. A dream that'll never come true."
His words hit me like a punch in the gut. I wanted to deny it, to reject the truth he was offering, but deep down, I knew. Painting was my dream, but it was a dream buried under layers of reality I couldn't peel away.
"You should be a painter," suddenly the mysterious girl's voice echoed inside my head. "Your hands… they're gifted."
I looked down at my trembling hands, my voice quieter now. "Do you really think my hands are gifted, Michael?"
His eyes widened, concern flashing across his face. "Aubrey, I didn't mean it like that. I never doubted your talent, not once. I'm sorry if that's how it came across."
"Then why are you pushing me to compete?" I asked, my frustration creeping back in.
Michael sighed, his fingers drumming against the table. "Because, Aubrey, chasing a dream you can't reach... it leads to disappointment. And I don't want that for you."
I let out a bitter laugh. "Do you think I'm like Alex?"
His expression hardened, and I noticed his grip tighten around the coffee cup. "No," he said firmly. "You're nothing like Alex."
A tense silence fell between us before Michael stood up abruptly, signalling the end of the conversation. "Let's go," he said, his voice clipped.
He motioned to the waitress, and when she brought the bill, he paid without hesitation. By the time he reached the café door, he was holding it open, gesturing for me to walk ahead. His broad frame blocked the light streaming in from outside, casting a shadow over the entrance.
We drove in silence, the hum of the car and the distant sound of jazz on the radio filling the void. The sky outside shifted from pale blue to the soft hues of dusk, the setting sun casting a golden glow across the water. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the view—the way the sun dipped below the horizon, the light melting into the ocean. It was beautiful, heartbreakingly so, and for a moment, I almost believed there was a way out of this life.
Michael's frequent glances at me through the rearview mirror didn't go unnoticed, but I didn't say anything. I just watched the sky turn from gold to purple as we sped along the coast, feeling a fleeting sense of peace.
This car held so many memories. It was the same one Alex and I used to ride in together, back when life was simpler—before everything fell apart. I remembered how we'd stride out of it, acting like we owned the world. Michael was always there, ready with a laugh and the latest sports news, his backward embrace as familiar as the wind at the beach.
The three of us used to sneak off to the shore, convincing the chauffeur to take us there without telling our parents. We'd sit on the sand, our feet buried in the cool grains, watching the waves roll in. Those evenings felt like freedom, the sound of the ocean blending with our laughter, the world outside our secret sanctuary far away.
But nothing lasts forever. Eventually, our parents found out, and the bubble burst.
I remembered one day vividly—sitting by the fountain in our garden, tears streaming down my face. Alex found me there. Even at thirteen, he was more mature than either Michael or me. His heart was kind, always steady. He knelt beside me, concern written all over his face.
"What's wrong, Aubrey?" he asked gently, wiping my tears away. "Why are you crying?"
I collapsed into his arms, sobbing. "Dad fired Uncle Gren," I managed between gasps.
Alex's expression softened as he held me close, stroking my hair. "Don't worry, little brother," he whispered. "I'll talk to Dad."
I looked up at him, my eyes filled with hope. "Do you think he'll listen?"
"Even if he doesn't," Alex smiled, "Mom will."
We believed in our parents' love back then. We believed in a lot of things. Until everything came crashing down the day Mom handed Dad the divorce papers. That was the beginning of the end—the unravelling of the family and the path that led to Alex's death.