It Takes a Stranger

Chapter 1: Introductions

"I wrote this thinking about you
and how if you were a novel,
you'd be an adventure of sadness and happiness
and love lost in between.
You would remind me of the sky and mountains
and constellations and caffeine.
You would be full of pages
that make me laugh and other times fall apart.
You would smell like history with a worn-out spine
and ink that could still bleed.
You would always be the novel
I took down from the shelf to read."
~Courtney Peppernell

The sunrise brought morning dew on every window in New York that morning. Flower pots on the metal balconies and stray cats prancing down alleyways were all but scenic charms one can find while walking down these streets. However, the early hours couldn't silence the sounds of the city. Taxis honking and street vendor's shouting, hoping to make a buck. They say tourists could never get decent sleep around here and God knows that they were right. It's mornings like this that somewhere, whether it's down the block or across town in Queens, the most unlikely of duos will likely cross paths, changing the course of their lives forever.

Maeve was a 24 year old writer. Well, aspiring writer, you might say. She'd never describe herself as a typical girl like usual stories did. In fact, she hated the word. Typical. Practical was more like it. She had short brunette hair that draped down an inch below her ears and curly bangs that she was always careful to never cut too short. She was fairly active, but was never shy to indulge her cravings every now and again.

She had serious goals for her future and did not waste any time on drastic spending and wild parties that most her peers dabbled in more often than not. Well, not anymore, per say. Back in high school, she had her fair share of sneaking out, hooking up, and other normal things that fed her teen angst. It wasn't until college came around that she buckled down after taking a gap year and got serious about her future. She wanted to reach people in the only way she ever dreamed of: writing and literature. Maeve found herself writing journal entries, short stories, and even school newspaper articles. She would spend hours in her university library marveling in the works of the greats: Jane Austen, Maya Angelou, and Harper Lee. Her mother always told her she had a gift, showing off all of Maeve's accomplishments to the other moms. She wanted to feel embarrassed, but she knew it came from a loving place.

At 22 years old, she graduated with a Bachelor's degree in Creative Writing and moved into an upscale apartment in New York City with her roommate, Ruby, who also flaunted Maeve's accomplishments like a designer handbag. Ruby and Maeve had known each other since 6th grade and were two peas in a pod ever since. Ruby was a supportive wingwoman and the fair balance of extrovert that Maeve desperately needed in her life. The kind of friend that would beg her to go on spontaneous road trips or get lost in IKEA with her on the weekends.

"Up early again, are we?" Ruby asked as Maeve glided past the kitchen doorway.

"What can I say? I'm an early bird!" She chuckled.

Maeve didn't normally go out on walks on Thursdays, but today there was an unusual tug. As a kid, she and her mother would go on morning walks on the weekends. Her mom would always say that it helps clear the mind to prepare for the week and it's been in her routine since she moved out.

She scanned over the bookshelf in the corridor for an easy read that piqued her interest, her index finger gliding over the numerous titles. She figured she wouldn't be out for very long, so it didn't really matter, did it? The notification on her phone, letting her know it's time to leave, went off and she grabbed the nearest novella; not really paying much attention to which one. Shuffling for her purse, she bid her roommate goodbye.

Locking the door behind her, she started down the semi-busy block ahead. Luckily, there was a somewhat huge lack of strangers shoving shoulders and policemen on bicycles. As much as she wanted to take the subway, She'd prefer to avoid the creeps and rushing workaholics that dwelled to and from; The layered jackets and heavy briefcases that could knock you right in the calf if you stood too close. Besides, she never really has a set destination on exertions like these, but her favorite spot was the park on Franklin Avenue. It was a weekday, so the chances of there being little kids and their moms were slim to none. She didn't know what exactly attracted her to it, the grass there was always freshly cut and there was always an empty park bench under the large oak tree awaiting her.