It's a Heart

Watching the world zip by outside the window of the passenger rail, Amaia sighed a little. She was on her way home to the husband she didn’t love, the children she had been forced to have and a life she had never wanted to begin with. All in all, it wasn’t a happy time for her. The world speeding by without her was only another symbol of the way things might have been, things that passed her by without the ability for her to grab hold.

She doubted her unhappiness was known to anyone, even those who merely saw her in passing. That was how the world worked. As the world passed, so did the gazes of strangers. None resting on those unfamiliar to them, none bothering to look outside their own little boxes and pleasures. None caring what went on beyond their own universes. The world was as fast as it looked outside the window, the people just as fast, coming and going in the blink of an eye, never to be seen or noticed again.

For Amaia, it was different. Her own gaze lingered in what was almost an improper, even obscene way at times, wondering if any of those around her shared her feelings of unhappiness, of wrongness, of…not belonging to a life she knew should please her beyond belief. A handsome and rich husband and beautiful children was something to strive for in this world, not something to turn one’s back on. It was a good life. Not something every woman had, though it seemed to be what every woman wanted.

Sighing again, Amaia watched as the rail slowed at its next to last stop to allow more passengers on. Nameless people who would never acknowledge her existence, let alone speak to a stranger – a strange and claimed woman – riding alone.

Claimed. It made her purse her lips as she thought about it, the charmed bracelet blinking conspicuously on her wrist, unable to be removed by the likes of her…or anyone else she had met that had actually be brave enough to actually speak to the property of Cillian Atwood, the rich and powerful ruler of their fine little city. Oh, not officially. That title belonged to another. But violence and money had ways of making people worship in entirely different and unofficial ways.

Watching the new passengers board, she attempted what she knew was a futile smile, a silent attempt at making someone notice her, not just purposely do the opposite, not let their eyes skip away to land anywhere but on her.

It was a smile that didn’t last long as the expected occurred and she returned her gaze to the window and the slowly moving city outside, the rail picking up speed once more, soon to show nothing but a blur of that city.

“Do you ever get bored, watching the same thing pass by day after day?”

The voice startled her, and she jumped without conscious thought, her gaze slowly moving from the window to focus on the blonde woman standing in the walkway between the booths around them. She was smiling as she waited for an answer. Smiling. At Amaia. Who had no idea how to respond, if she should respond.

No. She knew she shouldn’t. But, she had seen this woman before. She just had no idea that the woman had seen her.

Her name was Cytheria and she was a dancer. Or something along those lines. Something that Amaia couldn’t really put a name to except ‘forbidden.’ Unmarried, unbridled, unclaimed by anyone, Cytheria was free and she was bad. At least to anyone who abided by the rules of the society they currently lived in. Rules that were shoved down Amaia’s throat every day. Willing or not.

Yet, she couldn’t help but smile in return. Cytheria was also something else: exotic. In more than just the obvious ways that dancers and artists of any kind were. She was a rarity among a world of robots, people who wanted to be just like everyone else. She was someone who was very much herself. And she was speaking to Amaia of all the choices she could have had.

“Of course not.” She finally replied, her gaze lowering and smile fading slightly as she answered in the proper way. “Things are as they should be, and change would only throw everything into chaos.”

Cytherea’s smile didn’t fade, but she did arch an eyebrow at that. “I see. And I suppose your…husband has driven those very words into your head for however long you have belonged to him.” She was brave, bold, maybe bordering on stupid speaking of the man that way, but she didn’t seem to care.

It was something Amaia admired in her. One of many things that she didn’t even have words for, could only feel in her heart, though she had seen the other very few times and mostly in passing. She had never forgotten her, however. And she somehow knew she never would.

“What do you think?” Cytherea met her eyes fearlessly. “You can tell me.” Her smile grew into a grin as she winked at Amaia as if they were about to share some very big secret. “I won’t tell.”

Amaia almost wanted to blurt out everything she had been thinking, almost did blurt them out, but she caught herself just before doing so. She knew better. This woman was baiting her, and she wasn’t going to fall for it. Still, something about her…

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” Cytherea didn’t seem offended or surprised in the least. “Instead, tell me, what do you think of my new dress?” She did a little shimmy to show off the outfit, the tassels moving in an enticing way that made Amaia blush before she could stop herself, lowering her head so that the other couldn’t see and not raising it again until she felt the heat subside.

She knew she shouldn’t comment, should tell the woman to leave her be. She was taken, claimed, she belonged to someone else and they shouldn’t even be speaking. They weren’t on the same level.

She did none of those things. Instead, she looked up into Cytherea’s eyes for a long moment before allowing an almost sad smile to lift the corners of her own lips, her hands raising to make a shape in the air between them, a shimmering holographic heart taking form as she did.

Cytheria cocked her head curiously, not sure what the symbol meant or what kind of answer this really was. Not being one to keep her thoughts to herself, she bluntly asked. “What’s this?”

Amaia considered her answer for a long moment. “It’s a heart.” She finally said. “It has many meanings, but…today it has a special one. Or it did once. Long ago this day was celebrated as what was called Valentine’s Day. A day of love.”

Interest sparked in Cytherea’s eyes and she moved to take a seat across the table. Something else that was forbidden but so very much desired. “How do you know this?” There was no judgement in her tone, only true curiosity.

“I read about it.” Amaia’s voice lowered slightly as she glanced around. “In…books.” This, too, was forbidden. Books had been phased out before either of them was born, the only source of information holo projections and news controlled by the politicians and other elite of the city. Books caused the same chaos change did, corruption, darkness. Books were evil.

But to Amaia books were entertaining, informative, coveted because they weren’t allowed. They were the one thing she allowed herself to partake in that wasn’t expected of her. That didn’t follow the mandates of the world she found herself in. Books were an escape.

Cytherea’s eyes widened a little and she leaned back in her seat as she thought about that. “So, does this heart mean that you ‘love’ my new outfit, then?” She finally asked, somehow conveying something more than just the verbalized question with her tone. She was asking more, but Amaia wasn’t entirely sure just what that more was.

Blinking Amaia thought about that. The easy answer would have been a simple ‘yes.’ The easy answer wasn’t what came out because something inside her wouldn’t let it. Something inside her made her want to give more to this woman than a passing conversation that was so very rare in itself. Even if she knew it would never go anywhere, could never go anywhere.

Instead of answering out loud and possibly damning both herself and the woman seated with her, Amaia lifted her hands and drew the symbol again, leaving the heart spinning in the air between them as she met Cytherea’s eyes for another lingering second, more passing in that silence than words could ever convey. She slowly pointed to the heart, then herself and then Cytherea.

The light in Cytherea’s eyes was like a raging fire and soothing balm at the same time and Amaia felt a spark leap between them that should have terrified her, but only made her smile once more, the first real one she could remember wearing.

As the heart faded once more, Cytherea finally found her voice, continuing to lounge in the booth as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred at all. “Tell me more about this ‘Valentine’s Day.’”