All Things That Fall

12: leaves

I see a glimpse of the same expression that I saw on his face the first time he saw me here today, but he turns his face away- reaching into his pocket for something.

"Sure," he mutters gruffly, pulling his phone out and holding it in my direction, "Put your number in."

His face is still turned away, and I'm glad it is because he doesn't see the dark flush spreading across my face at that question.

I tell myself not to look too much into it, even as I take the phone from his grasp and put my number in, but a part of my brain cannot seem to move past the way the question was phrased.

"Tell me if there's anything specific that you'd like me to play for you," he says when I hand it back to him, "okay?"

I'd listen to anything you play, but I don't tell him that as I nod, taking another step back. "See you on Monday, then?"

The way his lips curve upwards is slight but not unnoticeable, almost as if he knows something that I don't. "See you."

Later that night, I stand in the center of my room- my eyes taking in everything- packed in little cardboard boxes that I had found in the attic.

In all honesty, it looked the same, just as cold and empty- even without my things in it. The lack of personal touch made me realize how I was simply existing here, not living. Maybe things would be better in the new apartment.

My new apartment.

I smile to myself at that. I don't think I understood how liberating it would be, until this very moment.

I give my room and all my packed stuff another parting glance before quietly opening my bedroom window, and climbing out of it with my backpack.

My feet follow the familiar path, and this time, even as I reach- the sadness feels a tad bit nostalgic rather than painful. I think it was the first time I had made it here without shedding a single tear yet, and that made my spirits lift- even if it was just a little.

There's a half-sad, but a half-content smile on my face as I sit down in the grass, pull out the two mugs from my backpack, and set them down in front of me. The hot chocolate that I had brought in the flask isn't too hot anymore as I pour it into the two mugs, tearing open the packet of marshmallows and adding three to each mug.

"Hot chocolate for us both," I say to no one in particular, "With three marshmallows each."

My fingers fumble slightly as I pull out my phone, pressing play on the cello piece Atlas had sent me- before pushing one mug further away from me, towards the marble headstone. The music that wafts into the air seems melancholic at this time, but even in the recording, it sounds just as beautiful.

And when the time on my phone finally reads 12:00 A.M. I reach forward to clink my mug against the other one, and then with the headstone.

"Here's me keeping the tradition going, nana," I say lightly, lifting the mug to my lips and taking a sip.

"Happy birthday to me."