Melisa POV
A shrill noise jolted me from my slumber, and I cursed as my head pounded from the racket. I reached out for the alarm and shut it off, but the noise persisted.
Groggily, I located a second alarm and silenced it, only to realize there was yet another blaring away. Ever since I got caught in a lie about having a boyfriend and refused to let Bibi meet "him," she had made it her mission to make my life miserable until I caved.
She even resorted to emotional blackmail, faking tears and claiming I was treating her like she wasn't part of my life. Once, she pretended to be sick, saying she was getting older and didn't know when she might go to sleep and not wake up.
Eventually, I promised her she would meet him one day.
One more white lie led to more trouble, as she reminded me of it at every turn.
It was only four in the morning, for crying out loud!
"What am I going to do with you, Bibi?" I muttered under my breath, scratching my head.
I stumbled toward the bathroom, took a quick shower, and prepared for my first job, selling kaimati (fried sweet dumplings).
I had three different jobs: working in a kiosk, selling veggies, and waiting tables at a restaurant.
Lastly, there was my job with Mrs. Green.
I know it sounds like too much, but I had to make a living.
Bibi also helped out here and there, selling her delicious porridge to vendors and construction workers.
She claimed to still have the strength to do something instead of retiring at home, lounging around and letting her thoughts run wild.
Like she always reminds me, "An idle mind is the devil's workshop." I couldn't agree more.
Of course, I never wanted her to work. Bibi had always taken care of me, and it was time for me to do the same. But with our financial situation, she insisted that she had no other choice.
I promised myself, though, that one day she wouldn't have to work. I would take care of her.
"Habibi, I'm just going to the bathroom. I'm so pressed I feel like my fallopian tubes are—"
"Bibi, no need to elaborate! I get it," I exclaimed, cutting her off with a glare.
Sometimes I wondered who the older person was between us. They say that as people grow older, they care less about being discreet, and their minds revert to that of a child, free to say anything without hesitation.
"Don't you give me that look!" Bibi warned, her eyes narrowing at me, making me sigh tiredly.
"There's a public toilet on the other side of the road. Do you want me to accompany you?" I asked, only to receive an eye roll in response.
"What am I, five?" she retorted, before adding, "I can take care of myself. Just wait here for me."
"Alright, then. I'll be here." With that, Bibi headed off, leaving me behind.
Taking a deep breath, I looked around. We were at the city square, nestled in the heart of the central business district.
Surrounding the square were the parliament buildings, the Holy Family Cathedral, City Hall, the law courts, and the convention center.
I walked toward an enormous fountain featuring an 80-year-old British sculptor's masterpiece.
The intricately designed, double life-size, 12-foot seated statue of the first president captured every detail, from a birthmark on his face to his trademark peep-toe sandals.
It had the quality of aging with grace; the bronze darkened yet finely sculpted, giving the founding father an almost daunting resemblance.
From every angle, the statue stood as an integral part of the city square, a testament to our history.
My eyes drifted to the towering buildings that seemed to gallop up to the clouds, standing tall together in the city center, reflecting the blue and silvery-white hues of the sky.
So different from one another, yet they harmoniously mirrored the beauty of their neighbors.
I loved the city so much.
The noise, the rush, the community restaurants, the movie theaters, and bowling alleys. The towers of the city stood in resolute togetherness, each one a testament to its unique charm.
The view was breathtaking and made me wonder if I would ever step inside one of those buildings or catch even a glimpse of what lay within.
Unlike other places, the city square had a refreshing air that calmed the nerves. I guessed that must be why people flocked here to sit and chat, while others strolled by, perhaps seeking solace for their minds.
My gaze shifted to the other side of the fountain, where a young couple was taking pictures, unafraid to display their affection in public.
I smiled as the young man shook his head, clearly uncomfortable, causing the girl to pout playfully.
In the end, he had to go along with it.
Watching the scene before me filled me with envy, and in that moment, I yearned for someone to love me.
Someone who would step outside his comfort zone for me. Like any other girl, I craved a relationship.
One without heartbreak. A love meant to last a lifetime.
I understood that heartbreak was part of the journey; love doesn't come without its thorns. Yet I still hoped to find someone truly loyal.
I couldn't quite grasp why Bibi was so insistent on me finding a boyfriend. It's not that I didn't want one; I just wasn't the type to dive into a relationship without genuine feelings involved.
I couldn't rely solely on looks, lust, or money. There had to be something deeper—maybe those sparks of chemistry or a genuine connection. Someone like Haze, perhaps? But then just like any celebrity crush, he felt utterly unattainable.
With a sigh, I checked my wristwatch, realizing that Bibi had been gone for quite a while.
"What is taking her so long?" I wondered aloud, stepping away from the fountain and scanning the crowds for any sign of her.
Worry began to creep in.
I had warned her not to drink, but she never listened. I was so focused on searching for her that I didn't notice when I stepped on a banana peel, sending me sprawling.
I yelped in panic, but it was too late to save myself.
All I could do was close my eyes and brace for impact. I expected to feel the ground beneath me, to endure the pain, and I pretend it wouldn't hurt so I wouldn't be pitied by the onlookers.
Or maybe I'd laugh it off as if it were funny, hoping to cover up the embarrassment. But that laughter never came.
With my eyes shut, I wondered if the impact would be enough to kill me. I had heard tales of people who felt no pain as they slipped away, though that didn't quite make sense.
Everything around me was still and peaceful. The panic I had felt moments before was replaced by an eerie calm, making my mind conclude that perhaps I was dead.
"You okay?" a voice intruded upon my thoughts. and oh boy, wasn't the voice enchanting, a male.
Only then did I realize I was in someone's arms, not lying on the ground. I slowly opened my eyes, squinting as the sun assaulted them.
I couldn't see his face beyond the halo of sunlight, but the shape of his jaw told me he was handsome. Was this perhaps an angel? Had I truly died?
Before I could indulge in my silly thoughts, he set me on my feet, the sudden movement making me dizzy. I stumbled forward, and he steadied me again.
"Sorry..." I murmured as my eyes finally focused, locking onto his hazel gaze. Holy crap! I rubbed my eyes, thinking I was imagining things, but he was still there, very much real.
It was him!
My eyes widened in shock.
"You!" I exclaimed, my mouth agape as I noticed the confusion on his face. He didn't recognize me, that much was clear, but...
"You!" So he remembered!
An unexpected wave of happiness washed over me at the thought that he hadn't forgotten about me.
"Um... ah... Th-thank you." Wow, I was still in the stuttering phase.
Get a grip, Mel. No more embarrassment.
"For saving me, of course. If it weren't for you, I'd probably be a spectacle, the center of laughter." I waited for him to respond, but he simply cocked his head in the sexiest way possible.
"Still as clumsy as ever, no flying kisses for me this time?" he teased, a amused smile playing on his lips. I cursed inwardly; he remembered that.
When I had that embarrassing moment on the bus, I hadn't expected to see him again.
"I'm not always like that," I defended myself, trying to gauge his reaction, but he just raised an eyebrow.
"I was just on—"
"On heat?" he suggested, recalling my words from that day.
"I was—"
"Hot, I get it." I wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow me. How could he remember every detail so vividly?
"If this is you getting back at me for bruising your head then its working," I told him as my cheeks flush
¨But can you go easy on me? It's only our second meeting, and I don't even know you.¨ I mumbled, my eyes anywhere but him.
"I know you though, Melisa wasn't it?" I was taken aback that she also remembered my name.
"You remember?"
"It's not everyday, I meet a shameless girl who sits next to a stranger with a camisol, blows a kiss and run off. You were might I say, annoying so to forget."
"Gee... chatty much?" I teased, barely able to believe this was the same man who had barely spoken during our first encounter. Now he was all sarcasm and charm.
"I think I liked you better when you were silent," I quipped with a playful smile.
"Is that so? Now, will the fun be there?" he shot back, crossing his arms in that annoyingly attractive way.
"I never got your name, by the way."
"I never gave it," he replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
"What's your name then?"
"What do I get in return for my name?"
"Well, I already shared mine; that seems like a fair trade," I countered, raising an eyebrow.
"Ah, but here's the twist: you offered your name, so it can't be fair, can it?" He challenged, seemingly to enjoy this little game.
"What do you want then?" I asked, testing the waters and curious where this flirtation was headed.
"Your number," he replied, a teasing glint in his eye. My heart raced, butterflies swirling as the tension between us crackled.
"Are you hitting on me?" I blurted out, a playful grin spreading across my face. My mouth really had a mind of its own, but I couldn't help enjoying this spark.
"Can I?" he asked, his voice teasing.
Yes, please! But what came out of my mouth was the complete opposite.
"No?" he replied, raising an eyebrow. "No, as in no number, or no, I can't hit on you?"
I found myself momentarily speechless, realizing he was quick-witted and a bit of a trickster.
"No, as in no number, and no, because without my phone number, you can't really hit on me. It would be useless." I delivered my response with a victorious smirk.
If he thought I'd let him twist my words or pull one over on me, he was sorely mistaken.
Haze stared at me for a moment, then threw his head back with a half-suppressed, almost scornful laugh.
His laughter, oh his laighter was so deep, rich laugh that reverberated in the air like music putting me again in another trance. It was like the summer rain, and the bird song too.
If only he had been like this on the bus. Those four hours together would have been completely different—I was almost certain I could have kissed him then.
"So, if I want to hit on you, I need your number, and for that, I'll have to give you my name?" He cocked his head to the side again, that playful glint in his eyes. The subtle movement drew attention to his strong jawline, accentuating the confident angles of his face
"See, I knew you were smart," I joked, and he responded with a grin that could drop panties, pure boyish charm radiating from him.
"That I am, darling. Because now," he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper that sent a thrill through me, "I'm already hitting on you." I sucked in a breath, caught off guard by the heat of his words.
"Uh, w-well," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper as I tried to gather my thoughts.
"Then I should change the rules," I finally found my voice, trying to steady my racing heart as goosebumps danced across my skin.
"Oh? Enlighten me," he said, leaning in even closer, intrigued.
"I'll give you my number if we meet a third time. You know the saying—third time's the charm." It felt a bit silly and naive to suggest it, but just because I had a crush on him didn't mean I'd throw myself at him.
I wasn't that desperate.
"Also, I gave you my name at our first meeting by accident, and today is just a coincidence, so, no—nothing," I said, trying to sound casual.
"Mmmh, alright then. Though I would—" he started, only to be interrupted by his phone. I watched him frown at the caller ID before hanging up.
"I should really get going, Melisa. It was nice meeting you—this time," he added, and I couldn't help but agree. The first time had been a complete disaster.
As he turned to leave, a sense of disappointment washed over me. Not knowing his name or how to contact him felt wrong, but I knew I had to stick to my resolve. Just as he was a few steps away, he paused and looked back at me.
"I'm curious, though, Melisa," he began, and I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"You consider the first meeting an accident and the second a coincidence?" His words hung between us, more of a statement than a question, making me ponder his sudden inquiry.
"Uh, yeah..." I replied, my voice tinged with hesitation, uncertainty clouding my understanding of his intent.
"And a third encounter?" he probed, a playful challenge in his tone. "Would you call it fate?"
At that, my heart skipped a beat.