Ryan's POV:
I slept past my alarm clock. One ring, two rings? I dont care. My hangover won't call it quits. But the time reality of my condition hit me, I flew out of bed, bolted to my washroom, and rushed to my office. In this process of trying to make certain ends meet, I sometimes forget to eat. I dont have time to cook. And I am hungry. But what choice do I really have?
I dont remember the last time I had a proper meal for my breakfast. Does an apple count as a meal? How about bread? Ive long since learn to hush the morning hunger spans.
My mother hated that. She won't give up till she was satisfied I filled my tummy to its brim. I miss my mother, which is very rare cause i haven't spoken to her in months.
I agree, that there are days when my sunshine turns to rain and I start to terribly feel homesick, and there is no way to find a way through the distance or to even make things work, but,
Summer isn't a very likeable subject for me. Its kind of the season I want to avoid at its best, which somehow seems to be an enemy bit of a problem, considering the fact that I live in one of the hottest cities in the world. However, there are, of course, its own perks, like every other season; albeit a little less but perks nevertheless. Today is exceptionally bright and yellow. It is the kind of day where you'd prefer an iced-mocha over a cup of Turkish chai with some crispy bagels, devouring the panorama of the city at a rooftop cafe.
I roam around the streets of this quaint town, comfortably clad in a pair of shorts and a cotton shirt. Blue is your colour if you do not want to be soaked in the wrath of the sun god. The day has just started and I can already feel my joints cracking and my bones breaking. Is it the age? Am I getting old? Oh! No. My hangover slows me down.
The sun was excruciating bright today, making my hangover worse than it already was. Christ! Saturday nights need to lighten up a bit for me. The TGIF spirit in me is pretty ramapnt and that often worries me.
Last night, after drinking my heart's content out in jager, I came back home with absolutely no recollection of any hour. And just my luck, I'd run out of my hangover medicine and now i have to bear th consequences. The consequences being, making my way out in this weather to get myself some medicine. I can't remember the last time it was ever so bad. But guess that's what happens when you celebrate your birthday at a club with people you don't care about.
Being 18 feels good. but at the same, it feels like any other day. It's no different. Just a day that'll pass in no time and will come again after 365 days. Big fricking deal?
I make my way to a chemist. The avenue alley is shut-eyed. People from all around the world, but mainly from Europe, I see them all. Desperately trying to make their ends meet with whatever portable business they've managed to raise. I can also hear some music, maybe Hindi. I don't know. I don't know anything. It's past 11 at this point and my headache is only ever gettign worse. It's making me angry. I stop by a store and pick up the only thing that I need — hangover medicine. I've had been drunk the entire month already.
In my defence, although I don't need one, I am celebratign my birthday month.
A distant cafe like bakery catches my attention.
Looking out the glass pane of the chemist, it's a sheer sunny downpour. I should have carried an umbrella or used a sunscree. I will brun like a chicken in this heat. Global warming is real, I am convinced. The posthumous day sky looks like a raven canvas, and its hauntingly beautiful.
As if on instict, I make my war towards the bakery -- Amoré. What a beautiful name! I push past the door and a tingling of bell jolts the owner. The owner is clad in flour, which is quite funny.
I look around to find two more people in this bakery that's big enough to fit a pack of only 20, or 25 at a time. Three more souls with their self-destructive behaviour, playing the same old bands on repeat- an endless loop of Queen and The Fray- a rather difficult cocktail. They could use a change in their music selection. I can see the lights shimmer out on the city, with the sun basking over, giving the city a look like never before. I am at a loss of words.
One is a young girl playing house and the other is a girl my age, if not younger, looking out the glass pane with a cup of coffee in her hand.
Wait, does she look familair? I try to pay more attention to her physical appearence, trying to put two and two together. Brown hair, tan skin... now where do i know you from?
Oh! wait. I think I know... and suddenly, this strange string of fate has me smiling wide. It makes me wonder, has the city ever looked so good? Nestling at the edge of the town this bakery, it is a long journey home. Two bus rides and a kilometre on foot look impossible, judging from the view outside. The day is young and from the looks of it, a long one. I am about to have some fun.
I order a cup of cold coffee and after straightening myself and ensuring that I do not look like a hungove mess, I make my way towards her.