Sun of Drizzle

Sun of Drizzlle

“You’re leaving? It’s too soon. How about a little chat?” he said with his eyebrows wriggling.

He looked funny and harmless but one thing my parents taught me about strangers aside from not talking to them is don’t trust them.

Then he eyed me from head to toe. “Oh, you must be one of them.”

I knitted my brows out of confusion. “Pardon?”

“One of them. The elites who think of themselves greater than gods just because they dominate the stock market.”

His words made me think of the people I just met back in the Thanksgiving party my parents were throwing right until this very moment.

“I’m not!” I blurted out before realizing that I’m actually a part of that society. I hate being one of them.

“Wow! That’s new. Why would a lady like you deny a life where you can have everything?” he inquired.

“Typical stereotyping.” I simply said. Everybody always thought that I can have everything but I knew better.

He looked at me like he’s trying to decipher me. “That’s interesting. Why don’t you sit here as we talk?” He tapped the space next to him.

I looked around but no one’s around. I was afraid that if I needed help, nobody’s coming to my rescue. I thought about my parents, probably they finally had noticed that I’m gone and would be looking for me soon.

But it felt like he was the sun and I was a planet, he has a gravitational pull so intense that I couldn’t escape. Without realizing it, I was actually considering his request.

He must’ve seen my hesitations. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” Then he flashed his bright smile.

My heart skipped a beat for a split-second.  His smile was so captivating that I felt hypnotized by it. I slowly took the seat next to him and as soon as his presence inched closer to me, warmth seemed to drape me because I could no longer feel the cold air.

“So, how old are you?” he asked.

“Nineteen.” I answered.

“Ah… College girl. Where do you study?”

“Harvard.”

“What’s your course?”

“Economics.”

“Are you going to keep that manner of responding in one word?”

“Sorry.” I apologized.

“Tsk! Tsk!” he sighed. “Well, I guess it’s better than one syllable per response.”

“It’s just that… I’m not used to talking.” I looked on my feet.

“For real? I mean, it’s so great to talk, expressing yourself.” he seemed troubled.

“There are other ways to do it like… poetry or music. I like it better that way.” I said.

“Finally! Two longer sentences.” He chuckled for a second, his eyes closing as he did.  “Poetry, you say. I, of all people, should’ve known. That’s brilliant.” He mused. “I, myself, love poetry and music so much. Those were already parts of me. Would you mind playing me some?” he offered me his guitar.

“It’s embarrassing.” I said shyly. Yes, I knew how to play but seeing him, played a while ago, I knew I wasn’t as good as him.

“Oh, c’mon. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”  He encouraged.