Are We Falling Like...

She didn't want to come here.

Parties aren't really her scene. Not in an academics over social life way, but in a socially awkward way. She finds socialization and making connections hard to make. Unless she's playing a part, slightly altering her personality to become more assured and mature, she's just this big heapful mess of quietness.

The taxi slows down as the building comes into view. She stares at her window, glancing between the people dressed in their formal clothes lingering by the door. The networking part is starting now, isn't it?

She mumbles a thank you to the driver as she pays, stepping out as her door opens. It's different when there's no one stepping out first in front of her. The wind is colder without someone by her side, brushing against her skin between the white opera gloves she wore and the sleeves of her midnight blue slip-on. Now, she moves her head a few times to look for the sign towards the entrance of the main room rather than looking ahead. Her shoes clack on the floor without mirroring anyone else's.

At long last, the doors are already open in place.

It shouldve been under her radar to know that the culmination party will be full of people. Her organization is for the people, after all. She liked helping those in need, connecting to them is such a way that she knows what to give them. She knows what they need. In a party like this, with people whose personalities open endless possibilities of needs and wants, she's plainly a fish out of water.

There are times where she appreciates herself. The peace and quiet, alone time, recharging periods—all these make her happy. It doesn't mean that there aren't times where she wanted to be more sociable and easygoing. If she knew how to string people better, then she wouldn't be feeling so nauseous stepping inside the room.

She wishes...

She looks around, searching for a familiar face in the crowd. It is starting earlier than usual. Her throat constricts, hands becoming clammy, brain going haywire over potential corners to lurk on. Where can she pass the night?

... wishes....

The lights switch from their usual glow to a soft, fluorescent blue. A lighter shade than the dress she wore. Its color reminded her of comfortable winter nights and hands wrapped around warm chocolate. She relaxes. Its familiar. In the middle of the room, a crowd is gathering, twinkling smiles and laughter.

There's a person in the center. He's magnetizing. His white suit is contrasted by the light blue coat he wore, catching golden glints from the light every now and then. It reminded her of early stars that peek between sunset and dusk. The kind that shines even brighter as the darkness envelopes them. She sees everyone clamoring for his attention, wanting a part of him for themself. A selfish motive. But he welcomes it like he has so much to give, because maybe he does.

The chatter soon dwindles down, however, as they see that they can no longer monopolize his starry glances and iridescent smiles.

He was looking at her.

Her heart stops beating for a millisecond.

Recognition passes on his face, a grander smile making its way to his cheeks as he excuses himself from the crowd of blurry faces and false grandeur.

He was now standing in front of her. His expression relaxes as he finally breathes.

"You made it," he says.

His voice is familiar.

"Yes," she replies. "The traffic was awfully bad."

"Indeed." He smiles, shaking his head slowly as if a harsh movement would jolt him awake.

Her, standing here, is a dream that he wouldn't want to wake up from. He would trade every handshake, every smile exchanged, every connection made—just to have one with her. It truly bled him so. How she couldn't see the effect she had on him.

Even now as she looks up at him with a gentle curve of her lips, his heart bleeds.

"It's a little stuffy in here. Will you be alright?"

She nods her head. "I want to go and meet the others, too."

"Okay. I hear you. Let's do that," he says.

He waits for her to take a step first, moving to the side. She walks ahead of him. The music of her heels make their way past the circle he entertained, the bar that he once tend to, and the stage he stood on almost every event.

They reach the balcony. A mini gathering of its own was happening behind the glass doors.

She hesitates for a moment. She wanted to glance behind her shoulder to make sure he was still there. Most of the people she knew and connected with for a brief time are in the other side of the door. But the glass is thin and void of any color. A shadow covers hers. She presses further on the door, a gap opening because of it.

His warmth is familiar.

A new world opens in front of her.

"Hey! Where have you been?"

"We had half a mind to drag you out of your apartment, yanno."

"Just say if you wanted us to crash in there."

"Gosh. You're disgusting. Please kick this guy out."

She smiles. He nudges her shoulder, earning a soft laugh from her lips.

"See?" He says, as if knowing a secret she doesn't.

She decides to amuse him. "See what?"

He gestures to the energetic group in front of them, talking amongst each other with their half-full drinks on the table. One sole cup is left filled to the brim. The small iced cubes on the drink forms a tiny transparent layer on the top.

"You being here isn't bad."

Oh.

Her nose begins to itch, eyes starting up a familiar burn. She tries to look away from the scene that sets her heart on fire but she can't. He has rested his hand on her head, gently tangling his fingers in her strands. They slowly drag themselves down while brushing against her scalp every now and then.

Finally, he moves his hand to her jaw. His index finger lingers on the bottom of her chin before it tilts her head upwards.

His touch is familiar.

He wanted to say a lot of things to ease up the crease between her eyebrows. He wanted to tell her about how his phone wouldn't stop blowing up with questions on where she was, why she was late, and if she's coming at all. How he jumped from social circle to social circle instead of staying here, all so he would be the first one she'd meet once she arrived.

What kind of expression will she make? He was left wondering. He wanted to see it first.

There's a part of him he always tries to surpress. It's a foreign feeling that only bubbles up everytime she's in his presence. He liked discovering things, spending his time in the company of others, looking for all the knowledge he could grasp. But he wishes for more. Salt air and blooming revelations.

He watches as he lets her go, sitting on the space in the middle of the couch reserved just for her. The people laugh amongst themselves, each one sharing conversations with animated gestures. Not a single one out of place.

This scene feels like what he wants to put a lid on but it spills through the edges. It's prickling him. Her.

She was mesmerising. There was no hidden agenda in the midst of their genuineness. The people would glance at her from time to time for assurance, for comfort, for warmth. She truly listens as everyone seeks for her presence—someone lit from within.

She glances up mid-laugh. They meet eyes. There is no pretending. She waves him over and he lifts up a hand.

"I'll be there soon," he mouths. She smiles.

Damn it. It kills him.

It kills him that he doesn't know how to make her understand how he'd give her all of him and more if only she'd ask. His words fail him.

A snowflake passes between his eyes, prompting him to look up at the snow falling around them. He sticks out a hand and is joined by another. Hers.

"It's finally snowing," she says.

"Yeah. It's cold. A familiar cold."

"I like it."

He looks at her gently. "Yeah."

A pause. Her hands are covered lightly with snow. He takes a leap of faith. A risk.

Her hands are laced with warmth and coldness at the same time, and her heart is erratic.

"I like it, too."