♥| Epigraph

　　"His hands are saying that he wants to hold her. His feet are saying that he wants to chase after her...He's probably forgotten that I'm here, beside him."

　　•••

　　Welcome to the world of immature writers and their unrealistic imagaintion they want in real lives!

　　*throws cream buns to all my readers*

　　*eats cream buns and burps like a cow in front of all my haters*

　　<<< This book is dedicated to those who think they don't deserve the one they love >>>

　　Here you go!

　　| When We Met |

　　"Love is like a wind. You can never see it, but you can always feel it."

　　Birds were chirping, the skies were all clear except for kites. A soft breeze splattered over trees which reverberated with pleasure. It was the spring season, perfect for every girl and boy, man and woman.

　　Two children were playing on the playground. Or more like fighting.

　　"You can never win against me," the little boy said, patting girl's forehead.

　　The girl tried to reach him, but he was slightly taller than her. How can he be taller? He is just six, the girl thought.

　　She pouted in annoyance at the rude behaviour of the boy who she didn't even know!

　　"I will tell my mom that today I met a girl who actually plays with robots and not with those pinkish-pinky dolls,” the boy said while laughing loudly, gripping a grey coloured talking robot in his little finger by its antenna.

　　"Give me my robot. My father gave that to me!" The girl ran towards the boy and pushed him hard to the ground.

　　The boy fell straight on his stomach into the puddle of muddy water, his clothes dirtying and his knees bleeding crimson due to the scratch he got right after he fell down. He started to cry, his shrill voice reaching the ambient noise around them, and to the girl's ears.

　　The girl stared at him.

　　And stared.

　　She blinked once.

　　Twice.

　　Then she came forward and offered her hand to him, her little fingers too small to pull him out of that mess, but her heart too big to ignore him lying there all injured.

　　Now it was the boy's turn to stare. Instead of letting her pull him, he actually pulled her by her hand. She also fell into the puddle, the mud splashing all over their clothes, her hands gripping his t-shirt for support and his gripping her little frilly skirt in reflex.

　　Ten minutes later...

　　"What did I tell you about giving my robot back? I wouldn't have pushed you then!" the girl said,  placing a bandage on his knee wound, blowing air from her mouth to make it less painful.

　　She took out another band-aid, which her mother had made her keep in her pocket for safety because she had a habit of falling and getting into trouble every time she stepped outside.

　　She unwrapped it with little difficulty, straightened it out before sticking it to his other arm which was injured while they were trying to get out from that puddle.

　　He was sniffing his nose when she was completing her little treatment. "I would have given it to you. I am not a bad boy!" said the boy, while wiping tears carelessly from his shirt sleeves.

　　"Sure,” the little girl dragged the word and continued, “Mommy says I shouldn't go near weeds like you," she said, smiling widely and lifting his arm again to check if she had done the treatment well or not.

　　"You just called me "weed". What is that anyway?"

　　"I don't know. Mommy says that boys are weeds!"

　　"Then I am not a boy. I am a man,” he said, standing quickly only to stagger back, pain evident in his eyes.

　　"Don't stand. It will hurt. Wait! I will take you home!" she said, snaking her arm around his neck and placing his weight on her shoulders. They walked to his house, both limping from their respective injuries but nevertheless content with their meeting.

　　"I am Emily!" she said, smiling brightly at him while helping him open the gate of his house.

　　"I'm Edward," he said embarrassed of his vulnerable condition, his manly pride kicking him too much for his short size and age.

　　Adjusting the dirty, muddy robot in her arms, she untangled her arms for a handshake.

　　"Friends?" she asked, waving her hand once again in front of him.

　　The boy merely stared at her hand, cocking his head to his side before shaking it back with a huge smile plastered on his face.

　　"Friends!"

　　From then onwards, the whole Dixon street knew who they were.

　　No, they were not famous.

　　They were troublesome. Breaking glasses was a daily habit of theirs. She would always come to play in his house, his house being large, and he would always come to her house to eat and study when his parents were out of town often. They made a great duo, their minds in sync when it came to pranks.

　　Twenty years later:

　　Emily's POV:

　　That son of a crow. He actually painted meatballs over my jeans. I thought he was joking. I kicked the mud on the ground in frustration, suddenly remembering I needed to save my innocent face from going viral in social media.

　　I sneaked out stealthily from my college, adjusting my bag in my arms. My head was hung low, hiding my face from people and cursing Edward's generations.

　　Oh, how much I would like to put a hole in his future!

　　I put the magazine in front of my face while walking, staggering in steps and unable to see when something vibrated in my jeans. Fumbling with effort, I pulled out my phone and pressed the button.

　　"What the hell Edward?! You filthy son of a tortured sparrow! How am I supposed to walk now?!" I yelled into the phone, earning several people's stares.

　　I was actually walking with my purse behind my butt.

　　This was so humiliating.

　　In so many not-so-humiliating ways!

　　I was going to graduate. I was so happy about that a few minutes ago. And I was actually happy to tell him that, but then I saw the washroom mirror and realized what I had been wearing all day. There was no doubt someone snapped my picture when I wasn't looking.

　　"That's what you get for wearing my clothes. I told you not to mess with my closet! You always steal my favourite pants and jeans!" he said, laughing heartily. His laugh was music to my ears.

　　"I didn't steal them. I borrowed them in hopes of returning them. You know I don't like to do laundry. And when I get clean clothes every week, it makes me lazier. That's why I took yours. But you painted fucking meatballs all over them."

　　"Okay, I'm sorry. Let me make up to you. Come to Latte Coffee," he said.

　　"Don't you dare to run away from there. You wait there! You're dead meat" I yelled, quickly hanging up before calling for a taxi.

　　I immediately went to my house to change into a new pair of jeans, stuffing his meatball jeans into a dustbin, rather harshly, but not before kicking and grinding it beneath my shoes.

　　That's what you get now, hah!

　　You don't get anything!

　　While on my way to the cafe, I saw the old playground where we met for the first time. Some kids were still playing there, heaps of mud castle sprawled on the ground. I couldn't help but reminisce about our moments and memories.

　　Nothing actually changed until now, except for the world became more lodged with technology, people became more distant with increasing desires and money dominated over precious human relations.

　　We didn't change our neighbourhood; we didn't need to, I suppose. But maybe dates or seasons changed.

　　And maybe our feelings too.

　　I smiled sadly, flipping my hair and pulling into a rough ponytail before walking to my destination...thinking of my unrequited love for my best friend who doesn't even have any idea about it.

　　So how is the prologue for you? Is it okay? Good enough of a start? First chapter coming soon!

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　　Have a nice day! ❤