Cold water splashes across my face, and the sharp sting pulls me back from exhaustion. I blink, watching the droplets roll off my skin, reflecting the dim light above, then wipe my face with a towel. Now I should look fresh and good but… purple hair, still rough despite the effort, and golden eyes that betray the fatigue I'm trying to mask. The collar of the suit digs into my neck as if the fabric has shrunk after hours of wear.
I don't look bad. Not terrible, at least.
Tugging at it, I step out of the washroom and hear some voices.
"… I'm telling you, with this year's bonus, I'm buying a new car."
"A car? That's nice. I'm thinking of a vacation abroad."
"You should get a charm instead. Your bad luck is at its peak, man. How could you mess up four meetings in one day?"
"Right? Even though I am the best performer. Should I see a diviner?"
"Well…"
I ignore it. The conversation turns into a background noise as I move down the hall.
This world is full of extraordinary people, isn't it? Wealthy, genius and crazy powerful people who chase after luxury, dream of the next big thing. But that's not me. Neither rich nor talented. Just an average face in the crowd. Life has been pretty simple for me, predictable even, and I'm okay with it. There is a kind of peace in it, you know? No drama, no surprise, just a routine I can count on.
"Zeph!" The sound of my boss' voice cuts through the silence of the office. "Got a minute?"
"Sure," I reply, turning back toward my desk. After picking up a pile of papers, I enter his office.
One thing I have to admit is that this boss of mine is awesome. His office reeks of money. Shiny wood, smooth leather chairs, and a view of the city that screams success. Awards line the walls, but I'm sure none of them are earned.
In his mid-forties, his hair is dark, a little too well-groomed to give him a distinguished look, though it's clear he dyes it. He's a man who wears his wealth like a suit. A crisp shirt, a silk tie, the outfit you only find in high-end boutiques. His personality also matches: charming and reliable on the surface, but hollow underneath; always saying big things with a smile that never reaches his eyes.
He glances at the papers in my hand, nodding. "Finished with the report?"
"All done, sir. You can check it," I answer, handing him the papers.
"Looks good. Send me the final version by the end of the day."
Oof! There he goes, pushing more work.
I glance at the clock on his table. Time is ticking away. Tonight's important for me–it's my wedding anniversary–and my wife deserves more than a dried version of her husband.
My lips stiffen as I bow. "Actually, I was hoping to leave a bit early today."
His eyebrows raise, eyes squinting, and he asks, "Why? Big night for the festival?"
"It's my anniversary, sir. So…" My words trail off.
"Anniversary, huh? How long have you been married?"
"It's been one year." The number feels like both a lifetime and the blink of an eye. "Sir, I should get going. My wife would be waiting."
"Of course, of course. Go on. Enjoy your night. We will discuss work tomorrow."
"Thank you, sir."
Finally free to leave!
***
The air is cool as I step into the buzzing, clamoring city, but my mind is too busy with thoughts of my anniversary to bother with the noise. The celebration won't be anything grand, just a quiet, comfortable evening at home. Renna's not the type for adventure, nor am I. Even so, a gift is a must. What's an anniversary without a surprise? But finding the right gift is harder than I expected. She deserves something meaningful, something that shows how much she matters.
What could possibly be enough?
I try to picture her as if it might help me figure it out.
She is exceptional in every way. Beautiful? Without any doubt, a rare beauty that's not just about looks with softness that's impossible to miss, but also a charm that draws people to her. It's in the way she cares.
If anything in my life is magical, it's her. She's special in ways I can't even put into words, and everything else feels small in comparison.
Sometimes I wonder how we ended up together. She's all warmth and light, and I'm... well, I'm ordinary, easy to overlook. Still, we love each other. Maybe it's because we're so different that we make sense. They say opposites attract, right? If I could, I would sing about my sweet life-
Wait! Opposites… sweet…? Sour?! She said she wanted sour fruits!
I snap out of my thoughts, pull my jacket tighter around me and head toward the market.
***
The market is a short walk, tucked away from the main road. Stalls line the narrow alleys, each one offering different items. The noise here is softer, less frantic.
Past the scent of fresh herbs, the chatter of people haggling over vegetables, and the loud calls offering discounts, I see it. The stall I know so well, Mrs. Sins' shop. It's a modest space, always neat and welcoming. The wooden counter is stacked with fruits, some familiar, others rare, all ripe and colorful.
Mrs. Sins is an older woman, but full of energy. Her smile is wide and warm even on the busiest days. We don't chat much, but there's something comforting about the way she greets me when I come in.
"Oh, my baby is here! Good evening, Zeph." Her voice rings out as I approach.
I don't know why she calls me that, but who cares? Maybe because we have been close since my childhood. When I was a baby, she took care of me in the orphanage.
I smile back, leaning on the counter. "Evening, Mrs. Sins. How's everything today?"
"You know," she says, wiping her hands on her apron, "busy as always. What brings you here tonight?"
"I'm looking for some sour fruits. Renna is craving for that taste."
"Hm… Let me see." She looks around and soon, a big smile spreads across her face as she reaches for a fresh crate behind the counter. "These sour grapes came in today. You won't find any better."
As she starts unpacking the crate, I notice a stack of heavy fruit boxes nearby, dangerously balanced. She must be struggling a bit with the weight.
"Let me give you a hand with those," I offer, already holding the boxes.
"Oh, no need for that, baby. I'm not that old yet."
"It's a service to the busy beauty," I say with a chuckle.
I move them to a safer spot while she watches, shaking her head. "You're too kind, my baby. Always helping out."
"Don't mention it," I reply. "You've helped me so many times. It's the least I can do."
Having finished moving the boxes, I turn back, and she hands me a bag of purple grapes.
Before I can take out my wallet, she stops me with a gentle touch. "This one's from me, baby. Consider it a gift for your wife."
I blink in surprise, happiness rising in my chest. "Thank you, Mrs. Sins. You didn't have to."
She shrugs. "You're a good soul, baby. A really good child…"
For a moment, her smile weakens, and her eyes seem down as if she feels some heavy burden.
Why does she look sad?
Then she straightens up suddenly, and the usual wide smile is back on her face. "Goodnight, baby. God bless you."
I was overthinking, I guess. She isn't one to keep her troubles from me.
"You too, busy beauty. Good night, and don't miss the festival."
With the grapes wrapped up, I make my way out of the market. It's funny how these little moments like these add up and make the day feel brighter for me. Always. It's not much, but it's enough. Sometimes, I fear that all this could slip away. The kindness from those around me, the small joys, and my life with Renna all feel like something I need to hold on to. But for now, it's enough, and I try not to worry about what might change.
***
As I turn around the corner toward our street, the noise hits me again. It's louder than before, with laughter, music, and the rhythmic beats of drums filling the air. I pause for a while, looking around at the clamor. The Grand Winter Festival, the biggest celebration of the year, is in full swing. The cold winter air bites at my skin, but the warm lights strung between buildings give some relief. Stalls are selling everything from food to trinkets, people are dancing with joy, and the entire city is alive with energy, swarmed by a massive horde.
Wow! I'd have been trampled if I came late. Oh?
While trying to push through the crowd, I spot a familiar face. Redan, an old friend from the neighborhood. He waves me over with a wide grin on his face.
"Zeph! Here!" he calls out.
"Redan," I shout, moving closer. "Happy Winters."
"You too! You should join us! There's music, food, everything! Come on, it's the biggest night of the year!"
We sacrifice some of our throats to hear each other clearly. The speakers are too loud.
I hesitate, glancing down at the bag in my hand. "Sorry, it's my anniversary tonight. And you know I'm not really made for this."
"Anniversary, huh? Gotcha. Well, make sure to enjoy it, man. But be careful out there. With the crowds, it can get pretty crazy."
"You think it'll be dangerous?" I frown. It's true on nights like this, safety can be an issue.
"You don't have to worry. Look around." Redan pointed at groups of heavily armed men standing at various points along the street. "These guys are everywhere. No one is getting away unnoticed tonight."
That gives me some relief. The festival may be grand, but at least it feels safe for the most part. "That's good to know. Thanks, Redan. Stay safe."
"Always do," he says with a wink, before turning back into the crowd.
I give one last glance at the festival and the lights before heading home.
***
Our house is a small, plain, one-story home with a cream exterior that blends in with the neighborhood. There is a little garden, well-kept, with a few plants along the edges, and a small porch at the front, where we can sit and watch the world go by.
As I approach the door, I can already imagine her inside, waiting. And in that moment, the noise of the festival fades away.
I knock on the door and open it to be greeted by plain white walls with no trace of bold color or decoration beyond a few framed photos of us together, and some furniture.
"I'm home, Renna," I say, excited to see her.
Then I hear a familiar chime moving closer to me, and I know well where it comes from. It's the anklets that Renna wears. She steps out of the kitchen with a smile that instantly lightens the cold in my bones. "Welcome home, Mr. Quin."
Seeing her face, my mind goes blank for a while, and I realize I've been smiling for some time. Smiling? Since when? I don't know. Every time I see her, this happens.
But…
What in this vast world did she do to look like this?
Flour on her hair and clothes, a small smudge of it on her cheek. Her long, wavy pink hair falls down her back in waves, completely at odds with the floured mess of her appearance. And yet, it's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.
She catches me staring and a mischievous grin plays on her lips. "I hope you don't mind. I was finishing up dinner."
I can't help but smile. That's it.
Her golden eyes, just like mine, told me so many things.
She has been waiting for me.
It's funny how much our eyes seem to talk on their own. Maybe it's one reason why we fell in love?
"Looks like you've had a busy evening, Mrs. Quin."
"I did." She pouts and opens her arms, but instead of a hug, I hand her the bag.
Her eyes light up when she looks inside. "Sour grapes? You know well what I like," she says, sending a few kisses to me, "You're the best."
"You love lying on the couch and munching on grapes." I raise my hands and wipe the flour off her cheek, placing a kiss. I feel her cheeks warm under my lips; she surely likes it.
"Mm… Why don't you go wash up? Dinner won't take long, and I'll finish things in the kitchen."
"I will freshen up then." I nod and head toward the bathroom.
A quick shower, just enough to wash off the day, but I take a moment after and apply a little cologne.
When I step into the kitchen, the first thing that hits me is the scene. Flour is everywhere, and there are pots and pans scattered about as she works, and much like her, it feels a little wild.
I step closer, wrapping my arms around her from behind, pulling her in for a light hug. "What's cooking, Chef Quin?" I ask, resting my chin on her shoulder.
She leans back into me. "A special soup," she says while stirring the pot. "Something that'll fill you with energy tonight."
I raise my eyebrows. "Energy, huh? Sounds like you're planning a surprise."
She laughs. "Now, don't get too curious, or you won't have it."
I tease her again, slowly tightening the hug. "Energy… I'm sure I'll need it with the way you've been teasing me since earlier."
She swats at me with a wooden spoon. "Go sit down. Let me finish the dinner."
As I take a seat at the table, watching her with a sense of admiration, a feeling of satisfaction sits within me. There's no place I'd rather be than here with her now. Some grand festival? Will you trade it for someone like her?
After a while, Renna brings the soup to the table, its heat filling the room, and sets it in front of me. The steam rises in faint curls, the aroma making my stomach growl. We start eating, but my attention isn't on the food. It's on her. She's sitting across from me, focused on her bowl, the glow of the lamp catching the pink waves of her hair.
I can't help it. Again! I keep staring at her, watching every little movement, every small smile. She has always captivated me like she's the only one in the world.
She looks up, catching my gaze for the second time this evening. "Zeph, why do you always look at me like I'm the only one in the world?" she asks, playful but curious.
I almost choke on the soup.
Did she read my mind?!
My lips refuse to open. Instead, I just smile; the same smile that I always give her, the one that never fully answers her questions.
It's a secret. A secret I'll keep for myself.
"Renna, you ask that to me every day."
Her pout reappears. "And you smile like that every time I ask."
"I can't help it. Oh, the soup is perfect. Not that you have made anything not-perfect."
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Keep up with the sweet talk. It'll get you everywhere."
I grin, loving the back and forth. "I'm not sweet-talking. I'm just speaking the truth."
"Yeah? I should charge you for these compliments then."
I laugh. "I think I won't be able to afford those charges. Please spare me."
Her lips curve, but she doesn't say anything, only watching me with that look, like she knows exactly how to tease me back.
It's how we always are. Comfortable, teasing, loving.
After dinner, we move to the porch, where we sit together and watch the distant lights of the festival flicker. Music is exploding for sure, but from here, the sounds are soft. The night feels peaceful.
I pull out a small box from my pocket and see her eyes brighten as I hold it out.
"What's this?" she asks.
"A little present for our anniversary."
She takes the box from me, carefully lifting the lid. Inside are two delicate bracelets of gold, with tiny bells and intricate designs etched along the bands. The bells, small but finely crafted, tinkle as she picks them up, ringing with every little movement of her hands.
"They're beautiful," she murmurs, running her finger over the smooth surface of the bracelet. "Like the anklets you gave me."
My heart becomes a little lighter knowing that she's pleased. I help her wear the bracelet, and say, "A tune to remind you of me when I'm not around."
The bells chime again as she shakes her feet and hands.
"You know," I say, "I think we should stay up all night, to see if we can outlast the festival."
"Oh, and what would we do all night? Sit here and watch the world get louder? You know the festival won't end until morning."
I laugh again, leaning in a little closer and clearing my throat. "We could... talk. Or we could find other ways to pass the time."
"Request… Granted! I'll take you up on that."
Eventually, the night winds down, and we both get up, heading to the bedroom. Standing against the doorframe, I turn to her, "So, how about..."
She looks at me for a second, no response with words, but her blush tells me everything. This night will be long.
Indeed. The longest night I will ever have.
The noise of the world outside has faded into the background, and within her arms, I drift off to sleep, unbothered by whatever festival. I sleep well.
… Until something feels wrong.
My mind gets an odd sensation. Renna is moving beside me, restless and uncomfortable. Her body tenses against mine, and to comfort her, my fingers brush through her hair. I can feel her slight movements, the rustle of the blankets, but somehow it doesn't sit right.
I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to wake up yet, but the silence surrounding us is... unnatural. Usually, even in the middle of the night, I hear the faint tick of the clock. But now? There is nothing. The city, which never falls quiet during such a festival, is eerily still.
It isn't just the silence; it's how deep it feels. The absence of sound is suffocating, pressing against my chest. My skin prickles, and a sense of something darker, something wrong, settles in my gut.
It's like the world is holding its breath, waiting for that something, something which has already begun. Silent, dark, and I fear it is too late to stop.