SOULMATES

IV

Marshall and Hazelle step out onto the street, with Hazelle lowering her gaze, trailing behind him. No words pass between them; they simply walk side by side, savoring the warmth blossoming within, manifested in the unhurried cadence of their steps. Marshall exudes an air of assurance, devoid of any unsavory qualities. It is as if his character traits are carefully balanced, embodying the equilibrium Hazelle yearns to achieve. It is mildly disconcerting, for Hazelle has yet to truly acquaint herself with this person, having only met him on this very day. Yet, is it not permissible for soulmates to forge a connection in such a manner?
"Haze, who was that prosecutor?" Marshall inquires, halting in his tracks.
"A friend from high school. Why do you ask?"
"It seemed as though the two of you shared a relationship beyond mere friendship."
"You need not worry about that; we have never crossed that line."
Not crossed, but once attempted. Hazelle perceives no significance in regarding her first kiss with Law as anything extraordinary. Both he and she are aware that nothing more will ever transpire between them.
Marshall smiles, as if already poised to experience pangs of jealousy over her past connection with Law.
He takes her hand. Hazelle blushes, as these initial strides on their first day together assume an air of peculiarity. Events unfold with an unexpected swiftness, surpassing the gradual pace depicted in the novels she has devoured. In a way, it incites a flutter within her heart. Hazelle cannot help but savor this sensation. Marshall's hands envelop hers, their contrast highlighting the vastness of his palm.

It possesses a certain sweetness, doesn't it?

They ventured into a restaurant, indulging in a shared meal. Hazelle divulged her predicament to Marshall, explaining how the doctors had advised her to seek a soulmate or resign herself to a life devoid of emotions, feelings, and intimate connections. She laid everything bare, unashamed of her circumstances. However, there was one detail she chose to withhold.
Hazelle did not disclose that she had a mere three months left to live, for in the presence of Marshall, she felt as though she had already been cured.

A sense of healing enveloped her being, as if her soul had found respite. She basked in a lulling tranquility, soothed by the presence of Marshall.
"Now that we have found each other, do you believe your psychopathy will be cured?" he inquired.
"Yes. I sense an improvement within myself," Hazelle replied.
Marshall blushed once again, ill at ease discussing such matters.

In Marshall's eyes, Hazelle appeared captivatingly beautiful, possessing a maturity and uniqueness that belied any inkling of psychopathy. She exuded an air of simplicity, yet her actions were artful and seductive. Despite having only met on this day, she captivated him. To him, she was perfection personified.
Hazelle was undoubtedly an enchantress, ill-suited to the role of a saint due to her undeniable charisma. Her aura concealed her true nature, enticing one to question and challenge preconceived notions. The dichotomy between her external façade and inner essence created a stark contrast, inviting endless inquiries. Anyone who dared peer into her eyes would find themselves lost within the depths of their profound darkness, a place even demons would fear to tread. She was a devil, the most formidable kind, where answers were elusive, giving way to an ever-growing labyrinth of questions.
"By your side," Hazelle interjected, prompting Marshall to flush, his gaze drifting toward the window.
"I see you possess a natural talent for flirting," he remarked.
"I'm not even trying," Hazelle chuckled.
"Truly?" Marshall marveled, eliciting a laugh from Hazelle.
"Would I deceive you? It's simply one of my idiosyncrasies."
"I beg to differ," confessed Marshall. "You're a dangerous woman."
"Can you disarm me then?" Hazelle teased.
"Undoubtedly a professional," Marshall marveled, flashing a sly grin, while Hazelle responded with a mischievous smile.
"By the way, how long have you been a firefighter?" she inquired, taking a sip of her green Chinese tea.
"Oh, since I was around twenty-one, I believe. If not earlier," Marshall pondered, donning a contemplative expression. "But certainly in my early twenties. And what about you? What is your profession?"
"I am a neurologist," Hazelle replied, her lips grazing the rim of her teacup. "Currently on leave, though."
"A neurologist. I never would have imagined a profession to suit someone so perfectly," Marshall complimented, his gaze lingering on Hazelle's features.
As flawless as ever.
"Your profession suits you as well..." Hazelle trailed off, her hands freezing mid-motion, catching Marshall's expectant gaze. Suddenly, her thoughts shifted to Law, whose occupation had also left an indelible mark upon his countenance. Yet, her mind swiftly returned to their parting. Hazelle contemplated the anguish of being rejected by the person she loved. How much would it have wounded her if Marshall had spurned her affections?
"Is something troubling you?" Marshall inquired, perceptive to the melancholy that clouded Hazelle's gaze. It was evident that her thoughts were consumed by someone, although she remained reticent about divulging the details. A tinge of sadness hung in the air, betraying the weight on her mind.
"Just reminiscing," Hazelle replied, cupping her hands around her mug to warm them.
"Would you care to share?" Marshall probed gently.
"I don't believe it warrants our time," she dismissed with a wistful smile.