Loving you is a losing game.

Lost In Your Eyes.

There is something very special at the end of summer to come to late afternoon and feel something in the atmosphere- the awareness that there is a chill in the air, the awareness that the days are getting shorter and the shadows are getting different.

Autumn brings an awareness of change- the leaves start to turn and change color; places often shaded by trees in summer are now more exposed; leaves fluttering down and falling- the end of a long journey.

Dealing with an arrogant, annoying man who doesn't take a minute to understand your point of view, can be a handful.

And for Taehyung, the perfect way to end a hectic day of work, is by taking a walk in the park, right opposite his publisher's office.

Kim Taehyung was a writer, who was known for his famous short story compilation for children. As a children's author- the idea which amused his parents- the young man was very much appreciated for his sense of creativity combined with the morals of human life. His stories which were a mix of Asian folklore with the modern context, sparked heavy interest amongst the minds of the little ones, making him an aspiring talent, with the potential to do so much more.

That was how he landed his first contract with the New York publishers, a prestigious publishing house known for publishing some of the greatest pieces of literature mankind has ever known; making him one of the few Asian writers to have obtained the pleasure of such glory.

But all good things came with a price; and Taehyung's was his patience. The director of the firm, Mr. Dickson, was a man true to the first four words of his name. He was a native American who had migrated from the States to manage the Korean branch of the main company, which had spread in many parts of the world, mainly around Asia. A complete you-know-what. He was very impatient and demanding, always wanting things to happen according to his will, when God himself is confused about the happenings of the world he created.

Taehyung loathed such people who were restricting of one's freedom. As a writer, his life revolved around the spontaneity of his mind. Writing isn't business- Taehyung once said to the overbearing man- it isn't planned, it doesn't come with strategies. Rather, it is spontaneous, the ideas kicking into your mind at the most unexpected and random moments. It isn't like the mountains; hard and solid. It is like the river; free and flowing. It isn't like business; planned and organized. It's like love; random and beautiful.

But the man did not understand Taehyung's- what he called as "useless talks"- and instead continued to pester the young writer to give him the best of his abilities, even going as far as to coerce the boy to accept his inputs to the book.

Taehyung- albeit furious- had rejected the man's offer and had warned him stay away and stop meddling into the affairs of his writing. Politely.

And as an effective way of calming his agitation caused by the Dick head- sorry Mr. Dickson- he decides to take a walk in the park, situated right opposite the devil's den.

The sun was a blazing ball of rich fiery glow, bathing the surrounding in its glory. He walked through a carpet of dead leaves, the soft crunch beneath his feet; a soothing melody. The cool winds of the evening a gift from nature.

Autumn was the season of mist and mellow fruitfulness- his aesthetic self would proclaim- a confession to his most favorite time of the year.

He still remembered the first time his mind registered the beauty of this season- as a little boy, holding his mother's soft hands as they strolled around the same park- 24 years ago.

He was mesmerized. The leaves looked crisp and fresh, colored in earthy browns, greens and crimson. The chilly breeze enveloping him in a warm embrace. The air smelled of dead leaves. The night illuminated by the soft glows of the street lamps.