"No matter your problems, face them with a bright smile and a bucket of chocolate ice-cream," nana once wisely told me. At the time, I was barely twelve and thought that I could summon a unicorn if I just believed in myself.
A decade later, despi...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Mark's point of view.
First impressions are everything for me. If I dislike someone, the first encounter quickly turns into the last. If I like someone, however, I keep digging deeper and reading every single movement they make until I come up with the last verdict of whether or not they're worthy of my time. Call me conceited, but I do not intend on spending my life mourning the loss of people who weren't worth it in the first place. So far, my gut feeling has rarely failed me. It has even given me some advantage in my career, if anything.
Maeva's no exception. From the moment I was sent to her parents' door to give her a welcome gift, I saw a spark in her eyes. She was drenched in sweat, covered with paint and holding a giant hammer, but somehow radiated positivity. Hence, I made sure to keep her close to me and she soon became the friend I never knew I could find in a girl. Five years she was my neighbor, my consolator and the annoying girl who'd pick on me whenever she had the chance to.
Then came the night when she vanished, leaving me a puerile letter. To say that I was pissed would do no justice to the fury that was kindled in me. Everything that I used to appreciate about her I loathed, and her picture in my brain grew demonic horns. It was the first time my gut failed me and so my walls went higher in avoidance of other glitches.
"So," she says dragging the o and rounding her eyes in a puppy smolder, "do you have a spoon?"
As much as I'd like to snap at her, I cannot help but smile for she looks like a kid who's asking for a treat to heal his wound. I only brought her here to put ice on her bruise, for old times' sake. I'll drive her back home once she finishes eating, and that would be the last time that I ever help her.
"Here you go" I hand her the spoon and before I get to sit back down, a gulp of ice-cream's already melting under the heat of her tongue. That girl really does take her grandmother's advice to heart. She once told me that her "nana" advised her to eat a bucket of chocolate ice-cream and smile whenever problems arose. That's some interesting piece of advice an adult can give to a child. All my grandmother told me before her sixth marriage was never to trust a man with a mustache, especially if his name was Ray.
"Congrats on the new house," she says, handing me the half-emptied bucket.
"Thanks," I reply as I decline her offer. At first, she's taken aback at how I refused to share her ice-cream, then she quickly recomposes herself, only to switch into her professional persona.
"Alright," she puts the container down, "I should be going."
She walks away from me, a hint of hurt escaping from her slightly pouted lips. Just as she's about to open the door, her body's dragged to the side by an invisible force and she barely manages to hold onto the knob. At first, I thought it was one of the many gestural jokes she always performs. However and as she keeps agitating her hand in an attempt to take the fabric of the shirt away from her chest, I knew that what I saw was far from being an act.
