There stands Neva, dumbfounded.
What... what did he just say?
No words come from her.
He leans in, drawing their eyes together along a scarlet thread of sight.
His dusky eyes framed by long lashes—it seizes her heart, drawing a faint breath from her as her body turns feather-light.
Those dark pupils swell, a glint dancing in them, mysterious, and intense.
And she doesn't remember a scene, wherein someone had stormed her heart, or frozen the breathings.
He's so... so close...
She's consumed by the warmth radiating from him, by the faint, woody scent swirling between them.
The Mystery Man tilts his head, arms folded across his chest.
A crisp crunch of dry leaves beneath an approaching step casts her out of a chasm.
A stranger, a man—walks past them.
He briefly glances at them both: standing motionless in the middle of the sidewalk.
Neva blinks, her gaze flickering here and there, but nowhere near him. "I have to—I have to go."
He straightens, a quiet, pleased serenity etched into his gaze still locked on her.
Neva clenches her fists, summoning the last shreds of will left within her as she concludes to go—far, far away from him.
"Excuse me." She steels her heart, summoning the concealed strength within her 169 cm frame, and turns.
She walks on, feverish... her cheeks aflame, her ears probably the colour of burning red.
Over her small, faring back, her luscious curls bounce—glazed copper in the golden sunlight filtering through the agape of trees.
The strands swirl with the enchanted breeze, while red and orange autumn leaves drift down, falling, falling along the moment so slow... the heart so fast.
And she fails to glance back at the Mysterious Man standing there—and own the blessing of catching his trailing gaze,
or the dreamy little smile painting his lips.
⑅ ⑅ ⑅ ⑅
Neva's steps slow in a lost space as she swats away the blinding fog clouding her mind. The haze gradually clears, though faint wisps of mist still linger in the corners.
She gently bites her lip. Thoughts spiralling around the Mystery Man, a phantom with wings, slicing straight through her muse.
She frowns, at the quiet ache in her chest.
Her heart agape out of nowhere, without a sensible reason she can assure herself with.
She won't ever admit, but some veiled, firmly guarded part of her hopes... secretly hopes... the Mystery Man follows.
But who is she kidding? Their paths differ.
Neva's gaze wander over the quaint street of City Vernellia.
Its cobblestone paths are hushed, trodden by only a few passersby. Cozy shops in neutral, earthy tones line the way, while autumn trees cast gentle shadows, filtering the warm rays of the waning sun.
Just then, her eyes light up, settling on a tiny shop a little ahead: a bakery café with neutral, cream-colored hedges and green vines draping around a wooden signboard that reads, Bournville Bakery & Café.
She walks up the gentle rise of the café's porch, where potted plants and blooming flowers adorn the space,
surrounding a lone Victorian table and four chairs resting to her right.
Her nerves tingle with excitement as she opens the door.
She closes her eyes, breathing in the rich aroma of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries mingling with the strong scent of coffee, just as the soft ting of the bell chimes above, announcing her arrival.
The young man behind the counter notices her, a kind smile lighting his face as he welcomes her.
Neva nods, returning the smile before stepping further in.
Her eyes roam the cozy space, there are scarcely any customers: a lone middle-aged man sits at the back, sipping coffee as he gazes out the window.
Neva strolls slowly along the display case, enchanted by the vibrant array of treats displayed behind the glass, each one a burst of color,
texture and flavor, tempting her with the impossible urge to taste them all.
But she leans forward, her gaze fixed on a particular dessert, a three-layered pastry crowned with white frosting and sliced strawberries, a single bright red strawberry gleaming at the top. She swallows hard, battling the irresistible urge to devour every last one of them, right here, right now!
"You like shortcakes?"
Her heart tumbles, lips parting in unguarded delight. She's always had a notoriously sweet tooth, and strawberry shortcakes are her ultimate weakness.
"Yes!" she exclaims, almost childlike in her glee.
A presence with a tranquiled heart—she fails to recognize the oh-so-familiar voice.
So unlike the storm that beautiful, handsome man had stirred within her just moments ago.
A youthful smile dances on her lips as she turns to glance at the speaker beside her.
She blinks—once.
Twice. Her eyes round—dramatically slow.
A veil of trance lifts, only to pull her deeper into another—into the beautiful, handsome face just inches from hers.
It's not a dream.
He's real—he's truly here.
Her Mystery Man.
He smiles at her softly.
Her knees weaken, thousands of butterflies churning in her belly.
A delicate ting~ of the bell announces a new customer's arrival.
Neva straightens at once. Her wide eyes stare ahead as her thoughts reel.
Just what in the world is happening?!
Her gaze flicks to the cashier behind the counter, amusement and confusion etched across his features.
Mind hazy, always hazy.
And who else to blame? The Mystery Man.
Neva shakes her head, and draws in a deep, steadying breath.
"Please..." She swallows, she's finding her voice. "Please pack four pieces of strawberry shortcakes and a loaf of bread."
The cashier nods, flicking a quick glance between her and the Mystery Man. There's an unspoken query in his eyes, having clearly witnessed their strange exchange.
The keys clatter softly as he types into the register. "That'll be twenty-eight ninety. Anything else, ma'am?"
"No," Neva murmurs, shaking her head.
"Cash or credit?" the cashier asks, glancing up at her.
"Credit, please," Neva breathes, legs still tingling beneath the fierce gravity of the Mystery Man standing at her side.
"A cold latte, medium.
And a cheesecake for me," says the new customer standing just to her right.
The cashier nods politely. "Please wait a moment, sir." He takes Neva's card and swipes it through the reader.
"Please visit again, ma'am." The cashier hands her the paper bag along the card, the smile lingering in his lips.
Neva nods, and dares not a single glance at the Mystery Man.
When she finally steps out of the bakery café, she's a burning mess, feverish, with her heart roaring in her ears.
She barely makes it onto the cobblestone street when the faint creak of the glass door sounds behind her.
She catches his gaze—and just as quickly looks away.
Footsteps trail close behind, while the heat in her cheeks and chest refuses to ease.
Then her brows knit together.
Wait—did she see that right? He hadn't been holding anything.
Not even a coffee. That's odd for someone who'd just visited a bakery café…
Panic creeps in as the realisation sinks.
Is he following her?
Is he actually a stalker?
Ha! That must be it! Her instincts are rarely wrong! That would explain her body's strange reaction to the Mystery Man.
But… he doesn't look like a one. And why on earth would anyone want to follow her?
She presses her lips together, trying to reason with herself, twisting her thoughts to quiet the screaming of her senses.
To excuse the wild, inexplicable betrayal of her own body.
Whatever.
She will not—will never—give him the reaction he's seeking again.
She needs to calm down. Stay alert.
Be on guard, and ready herself for the worst.
She spots a convenience store ahead and quickly strides toward it.
Going straight home wouldn't be wise, though every part of her wants to run away and hide and stop embarrassing herself.
Still, she needs to pick up a few groceries for dinner.
A soft chime announces her entry as she steps in. The store is quiet,
only the cashier at the counter and a few customers wander the aisles, their carts half-filled and wheels squeaking faintly.
Grabbing a cart from the front, Neva starts down the aisles, footsteps light but hurried.
But her heart skips a beat as she casts a quick glance over her shoulder—
There he is. Just a few strides behind.
Hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his gaze drifting casually along the aisles.
Neva presses her lips together and turns away, her steps quickening.
Time blurs—seconds stretching into slow, syrupy spans.
She wanders the aisles aimlessly.
And pretends to be absorbed in her errands, grabbing random items she doesn't even need. Anything to feign ignorance of the stranger's gaze following her every move.
Anything to delay leaving. Anything to keep from revealing where she lives.
Neva breathes in, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a plea for calm.
She reaches for a pack of cookies among the many stacked neatly in rows,
and sneaks another glance at him.
There he stands—some few steps away—arms crossed, leaning casually against the opposite aisle.
His dark, shimmering eyes are fixed on her.
Neva turns away, biting her lip as she grabs another box of chocolate cookies.
Her nerves prickles, the urge to confront him simmering hot beneath her skin.
"What's the matter with him?" she mutters under her breath.
Strangely, and most disappointingly,
she doesn't sense any creepy vibes radiating from him, which only deepens the crease between her brows.
Running through a hundred ways to confront him, she takes a slow, steadying breath, clenches her fists, and whips toward him.
"Why are you following me?" Her voice comes surprisingly steadier than she feels.
He lifts a strong, dark brow.
Silence.
Her nails dig into her palms as she locks eyes with him, steady—unflinching.
Her stomach twists; heat flooding her face.
Oh no. What if he wasn't following her?
She could almost faint, dig a hole right there, and disappear from the utter humiliation.
She doesn't dare turn now. She can't move now. But what wouldn't she do to keep her features frozen, masking the chaos within
"I confessed," he says at last, his voice low and measured.
"Yet you gave me nothing in return."
His steps are slow, deliberate—as he closes the distance between them.
She swallows hard, lifting her gaze to him—he's standing mere inches away.
"Please… keep your distance from me."
He angles his head, calmness settling into his features.
"Not until you give me a response."
"I don't owe you any response." She tries to keep her voice calm and unyielding.
But the telltale flush of heat blooming across her cheeks betrays her,
giving her away to the Mystery Man—easily.
"Then I won't keep away," he murmurs.
"Not until you compensate for the heart you stole." A smile plays on his lips, making him appear every bit the charming deceiver.