---

Nancy Turner was late for her flight.

Every second the young girls in front of her kept chit-chatting instead of putting their damn shoes in the box for the officers to slide under the scanner was another second she was unable to run for the plane in Gate 39. The line was moving at the same pace of the cars in New York during the Fourth of July, and though Nancy was a stickler for security, she had to admit that the bag check at JFK could use a caffeine boost.

God, what she’d do for a cup of coffee right now. It was six-thirty in the morning; the sun had barely risen over the horizon.

Tick, tick, tick.

Mary, behind her, leaned in close and sniffed lowly, “You know, you’d think they’d speak English in America.”

Rolling her eyes, Nancy batted away her friend. She had spent over two years as a journalist in China, so she picked up the language quite easily. Though, these girls didn’t look like they were from the mainland. She guessed maybe nineteen or twenty years of age.

Tick, tick, tick.

If the two girls in front heard Mary’s racist remark, they made no show of it. They were preoccupied with the young man behind her, taller than even Mary and definitely more handsome. He was smiling, but Nancy couldn’t tell what there was to be amused by.

The old lady at the front finally moved through the full-body scanner. Only six people left in front, then she could get through and make her seven o’clock flight. Her meeting with the potential sources for her next article was in less than nine hours, so she hoped that the security in Heathrow would be faster than here.

“Go,” said the shorter of the two girls in Mandarin, long blonde hair tied up in a bun. “Just ask him.”

“Meilin, stop it,” the other one snapped, finally removing her shoes and jacket and placing it carefully in the plastic bin. This one had dyed the tips of her hair bright pink. “What if he understands you?”

The shorter girl laughed, blonde hair bouncing. “Well, it’s not like we’re insulting him. Not his fault he’s hot.”

A hand waved in front of Nancy’s face. She was starting to invest her interest in their conversation. “Excuse me, ma’am, your watch,” the officer told her, gesturing to where, indeed, her metal watch still sat on her wrist.

Mary scoffed again from behind her. “Look at them, they probably don’t even speak English.”

Just as Nancy was about to rebuke her friend, the taller Asian girl turned around. “Hi, I’m Arya. If you’re going to continue making snap judgments about my friend and I, could you please speak up so we can hear you properly?”

Her English was flawless, spoken as a native. Nancy was floored, and she almost giggled at the look of utter astonishment and disdain on Mary’s face.

When she got no answer, Arya switched back to Mandarin and continued conversing with Meilin about the boy behind Nancy, whose smile was bigger than ever.

Tick, tick, tick.

Arya went through the scanner first, followed quickly by Meilin. The second was stopped by the officer, and Arya waited impatiently on the other side with their shoes in hand.

This was Nancy’s fifty-sixth time through airport security, so she passed through quite smoothly. She was in the middle of putting on her second shoe when Meilin stomped over, complaining about how the lady held her hostage just because she owned nice things.

Mary was still silent, but Nancy thought that was just so. She couldn’t go around spreading those unjust sentiments; there was no room for racial prejudice in this world.

Tick, tick, tick.

Just as the girls were about to leave, the young man from before suddenly appeared before them. He spoke directly to Arya when he said, “I just have to say, I admired how you stood up to that woman before, but…” He leaned in, and Nancy found herself angling her ear toward his next words. “Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical when you were speaking about me in a language you presumed I wouldn’t understand?”

Perfect Mandarin. Before Arya or Meilin or anyone who cared what was going on could reply, the boy walked away in slow, purposeful strides.

Nancy couldn’t keep her laugh in that time. Meilin’s eyes cut to her, and Nancy forced herself to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

But Meilin just smiled, and then she started laughing herself.

Arya’s face turned bright red in an instant, and she was sputtering for several seconds before her mouth closed and she shook her head as if that would keep the words from spilling out.

“Nan, we have to go,” Mary sniped, a little coldly. Probably snubbed that Nancy was sort of getting along with complete strangers in an airport.

As they walked away from the still-stunned Arya and still-laughing Meilin, Nancy couldn’t help but think, how the tables have turned.

---

Serena Wu just wanted her ice cream. It was very hot outside. But she also drank four glasses of water at lunch.

She tugged on the sleeve of the woman beside her. “Mommy, I need to pee.”

“Serena, please,” her mom huffed, wiping the sweat off her brow.

The little girl crossed her legs, bouncing urgently, long black hair braided neatly. Her dad was pacing down the street with her younger brother, rocking him from side to side in an effort to quiet the newborn babe. Their whole family was in Barcelona for the summer holidays.

They had gone to the beach, walked around Las Ramblas, and her mother had tried to speak some of the Spanish she learned in high school with the shop vendors.

But Serena really, really had to pee. All she wanted was a toilet. Forget the ice cream.

When Joey started crying again, her mom said to her, sharply, “Stay here. Don’t go anywhere.”

Then Serena was alone. With a full bladder. Yet she stayed put, maintaining her spot three feet away from the ice cream display. She was now bored, and old enough to know that sometimes it would be better to try and distract herself from her current situation. So, she listened.

There were two girls sitting at the table outside under the big umbrella. They didn’t speak in English, or Spanish, but in Serena’s native Mandarin.

“I still can’t believe that guy was on our plane,” the blonde one said, digging into her cookies ‘n cream.

“I still can’t believe he speaks Mandarin,” the pink-haired one retorted.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

The other girl considered the question, and finally nodded. “You’re right. He can speak Mandarin. Doesn’t matter. Anyone can speak any language.”

Serena was watching the blonde girl when her eyes widened at something to her left. “Arya, he’s right there.”

“What?” Arya asked, scooping up some more of her chocolate ice cream. “Who?”

“Him! Airport guy! The hot one!” Meilin replied, pointing to where a guy was buying water at a street kiosk.

Serena was so confused. She turned to where Meilin was looking, and she saw a white man with blond hair and fairly tanned skin.

“Go talk to him,” Meilin urged.

“I can’t do that. Why would I do that?” her friend asked, voice now hushed.

“Oh, c’mon, Ri, he’s hot. You met him at the airport in New York. And he was on the same flight as us. And now he’s here! It’s fate. It’s obviously fate.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Fate is a silly belief for those who are too cowardly to go and get what they want for themselves.”

“Then go get it!” Meilin really liked to yell. She was very loud. “Just say hi to him.”

The two girls kept bickering back and forth for another couple of minutes. The man walked away from the kiosk and started walking in their direction, but he had sunglasses on and Serena could see that he had earphones in.

Her mother was still trying to soothe Joey, and her father was doing the same.

When the girls abruptly stopped talking as the blond man passed their table without a second glance, Serena darted the two steps to him and put a hand on his arm.

He stopped and glanced down at her. “Hello,” he said, in English.

Serena was only nine, and her English was still developing, but she heard the girls say this man spoke Mandarin.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, forgetting about the need to pee entirely. “I think they want to talk to you.”

Meilin and Arya both gaped at the young girl, but then the blond man saw the entire situation, and he smiled. He looked much nicer when he smiled. Much older than her, but there was something very comforting about his presence.

“Well, it seems like I want to talk to them, too,” he replied, and Serena could detect a faint accent when he spoke in Mandarin, but he was definitely capable of communicating effortlessly.

Arya spoke first. “What are you doing here?”

His brows raised. “In Barcelona? Or this street? I think you’ll have to be more specific.”

Meilin interjected, “I think she just doesn’t understand that people can do whatever they want, but sometimes things happen for a reason.”

The pink-haired girl just stared at the blond man in front of her. “I’m sorry for talking about you behind your back.”

“As your friend said, they were only compliments,” he responded smoothly, his tongue never failing to pronounce the difficult Chinese words.

Arya’s cheeks bloomed red, and Meilin said, “She thinks you’re hot.”

He laughed while Arya glared at her friend. “Could you tell her I think she’s quite beautiful herself?”

It would seem like Serena’s presence had been forgotten entirely. She edged backward slowly so as not to startle the three people speaking to each other. Still, she kept listening.

“Where are you from?” she heard Meilin ask.

“I’m studying for my master’s at Columbia, but I’m from Toronto,” the man replied. Serena had no idea what a master’s was.

“No way! That’s where we’re from. We’re both at U of T, actually,” Meilin said.

“So, where did you learn Mandarin?” Arya inquired, her first words in minutes.

The man said, “My parents wanted me to learn the languages of the world, so I had various tutors growing up. Mandarin, French, English, some Spanish, and enough Russian to order a meal in a restaurant, maybe.”

Even Serena, whose parents demanded perfection, was impressed. Though she was watching her parents fuss over Joey, she was still eavesdropping on the conversation unfolding behind her.

Meilin: “How long are you in Barcelona for?”

The man: “Three nights, four days.”

Meilin: “We’re only here for two days, sadly.”

The man: “I’m Alex.”

Meilin: “I’m Meilin, but my white friends call me Lily.”

A momentary silence, then Meilin said pointedly, “This is Arya. Nobody calls her by her Chinese name.”  

Alex: “It’s nice to meet you, Meilin and Arya.”

Meilin: “Arya studies Microbiology. She has no plans tomorrow night. Her favourite food is –”

The food is unrecognizable to Serena, but it sounded like pa-ey-a.

She heard a thump, and then Meilin crying out in pain. “What was that for?”

“I’m sorry, Alex, but I don’t know you,” Arya said, and Serena snuck a glance to see her crossing her arms.

“Hey, no worries. I wouldn’t trust me either. But if you change your mind…” He scribbled something down on a napkin. “I’ll be around.”

The man got up, said his goodbyes, and promptly left the table. Instantly, the two girls broke into another argument.

“Serena!” her father called. He was at the front of the line, searching for his daughter in the crowd. “Where are you?”

Though she wanted to keep listening to this conversation, she knew her father would think she was lost if she didn’t get back to him.

As she turned away, she saw Meilin slap Arya on the arm. “For once in your life, Arya, be spontaneous.”

Serena didn’t get to hear the rest, but she hoped that Arya and Alex would meet again.  

---

Rafael García Lopez was having a terrible day.

He had been standing behind the concierge desk for nearly twelve hours, and his back ached like someone had been beating him to death. At the start of the shift, there was the old man who demanded his room be upgraded into a suite for “medical purposes.” Then, there was the family that came in trekking mud all over the marble floors. A few young girls had been chasing a boy around their age. Yelling parents, impolite guests, and endless hours weighed down on Rafael’s shoulders every single day since he started working here.

Eleven hours and forty-seven minutes later, he was just about ready to sit down. To leave. He still had thirteen minutes left in his shift, and then he would be free to go outside and enjoy the heat of Barcelona in July.

Rafael wanted to feel the sun on his face. He wanted some sangria, a nice book, and a spot on the beach near the water. Most of all, he wanted to sit.

Two Asian girls came into the hotel five minutes later, sunglasses perched on top of their colourful heads.

Eight minutes left. Then you can go and feel human again.

They were arguing about something, but Rafael was too far away to hear what they were saying.

When they got to the front of the desk, the shorter, blonde one said, “Hi, do you have any recommendations for good paella around here?”

Rafael straightened, and in his best customer-service voice, he replied, “Of course. Just give me a few moments, and I can show you some of the best restaurants we have here in Barcelona.”

“Meilin, I really don’t think it’s wise to go out with a guy I barely know. I met him at the airport!” the taller one claimed, tying up her pink hair into a ponytail.

“Look, we’re out here in Europe, so damn far away from home because we needed an adventure. And one just landed in our lap! Here’s your adventure, Ri. He’s a cute guy, you met him somewhere random, and you’re in Barcelona. How often do you think that happens? Besides, if you don’t like him, then we’re going to Milan in two days anyway. You’ll probably never see him again.”

Rafael was inclined to agree with the short one. He wasn’t young anymore, but he knew potential romance when he saw it – he read all those books for a reason. His fingers slowed on the computer, simply because he wanted to hear more of this conversation.

“Then why don’t you go out with him? I’ll go sightseeing or something,” the taller one said.

“Hello? Are you forgetting something? I have a Jake. You have a Netflix. C’mon, Ri. He seemed like a nice guy.”

“Yeah, seemed.”

“Well, how would you actually know unless you got to know him better?”

“Who even said I want to get to know him better?”

“Oh, please, the only reason you don’t want to do this is because you’re terrified that it’ll actually turn out well.”

Ooh. Drama. Rafael pretended to be busy on the computer, but really, he was looking up the most romantic restaurants in the city. All of them probably had paella, right?

“No, the reason I don’t want to do this is because he’s a stranger.”

“So, use a fake last name. Don’t give him your number. You live in Toronto, he’s in New York, chances are you’ll never even see him again.”

The girls had a staring match, neither one willing to break down. Though she was the smaller one, Meilin eventually won with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll go call him,” Ri relented huffily, stalking away out of earshot.

Meilin turned to Raf. “How’s that list coming along?”

“I just need to print it, Miss. One moment…” He took the freshly printed sheet and placed it on the counter. “I hope my selections don’t disappoint. They are known for paella, and they are all very romantic.”

The blonde girl smiled at him, a little mischievously, “I believe in fate, you know. This guy was at the same airport, in the line for security at the same time we were, on our plane, and then right outside where we were having our ice cream just now. I mean, he’s either following us or someone just really wants them to meet, right?”

Rafael leaned in close, “If he is following you, Miss, our security at the hotel is very good.”

Meilin turned to where her friend was on the phone, a lovely blush on her cheeks. The girl turned to Raf and said, “No. Trust me. This is fate.”

He just shrugged, uncaring about the fact that his shift had been over for almost nine minutes and he was still behind a desk. “If it is fate, Miss, then your friend will not be able to run from it.”

She smiled. “No, she won’t.”

---

Philip Jameson couldn’t stop fidgeting.

His wife had grown used to his jitters years before, so she was unperturbed by his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table or the tissue he had reduced to ripped smithereens.

Philip loved his wife more than anything in the world. They were married on a beautiful spring day twenty-seven years ago, but he still felt like every dress she wore was white, and that every step she took was down that aisle glimmering with rose petals.

They decided to come to Barcelona this year for their anniversary. Before, it had been Paris, then Shanghai, then Bali. Sheila had wanted to come to Barcelona this year, so he made all the necessary arrangements for their trip.

Sheila smiled suddenly, and she looked up at him from where she had been steadily eating her delicious paella. The hotel had recommended this restaurant for their nice dinner, so to this restaurant they had come.

“Look, dear, first date,” she said. He surreptitiously glanced to his left to where, indeed, there was a young man and woman clearly having their first date.

The young girl – blue dress, pink hair, Asian – kept drinking her water as she spoke to her date. Very obviously nervous.

The young man – semi-formal clothes, blond, white – kept flexing his fingers under the table where his date couldn’t see. Also nervous.

Philip and Sheila were two tables away, so they couldn’t hear the conversation clearly, but in times like these, body language was much louder than words.

“Do you think it’ll work out?” his wife asked him quietly, the same smile on her lips that made him fall in love with her in the first place.

Philip noticed the girl’s blush, the boy’s intense focus on her words. He saw that while they were both nervous, there was a tangible attraction between them. Her shoulders were angled toward his, and neither of them ever looked anywhere else.

“I don’t know,” he settled at last. “Maybe.”

Sheila, curiosity satisfied, began talking about the new hires in their restaurant back home in London. They were too young, too inexperienced, and Philip agreed with her. Their conversation morphed from talks of the business to their upcoming visit to the Sagrada Familia to their son’s wedding in three months.

Philip eventually shredded three more napkins throughout, but he knew Sheila didn’t mind.

As they were leaving, though, he heard just a few sentences between the young girl and the young man two tables over.

“Where are you going next?” he asked.

“We’re going to Milan for a few days, then Monte Carlo on the thirteenth.”

“I’m meeting a few friends there on the fifteenth, actually.”

“Really?”

Sheila nudged Phillip gently. “Time to go, dear.”

Phillip gave one last glance to the budding couple, and appeased, he walked out the restaurant hand-in-hand with his wife.

---

Wesley McCallister loved traveling alone.

He answered to no one; he could sleep, eat, and drink whenever he wanted. Best of all, at twenty-three, if he brought a girl home, then his parents wouldn’t be able to berate him after. This was his third solo trip, and he always ended up coming back to Monte Carlo.

The food, the casinos, the girls. All of it was great.

There were two pretty girls sitting at the bar, but he decided that he much preferred the one with pink hair. Oh, sure, the blonde one’s dress was backless and she laughed with her entire body, but the other girl…

He wanted her.

They had been speaking to only each other for the last ten minutes, so he figured they were here alone. No rings on their fingers, and probably foreigners like him.

After running a hand through his hair to maintain his signature look, he approached them on steady feet.

“- can’t believe I have my bio class at eight-thirty!” the pink-haired one exclaimed. “Who would even go to that?”

“I definitely wouldn’t,” Wesley interrupted, smiling his best charming smile.

Instantly, the blonde one’s face twisted in distaste. “We didn’t ask you.”

“I was just being honest,” he said easily, calling on the bartender for a glass of scotch.

“Nobody asked you to be,” she said, turning her body so her back was to him.

Who the hell did she think she was?

The pink-haired one said, a stubborn glint in her eyes, “We should probably go, anyway.”

“So soon?” Wesley asked. “Let me at least buy you a drink. Are you girls here on holiday?”

“We don’t want a drink,” was all she said. “Let’s go, Meilin.”

He leaned an arm on the bar when she stood up to leave. “Just one drink?”

They always relented. Eventually.

“No, thanks,” the blonde one snapped. “C’mon, Arya.”

Instinctually, he grabbed Arya’s forearm as she made to move around him. All he wanted was to buy her a drink. Why was she being so stubborn?

But he felt his arm twist, and then pain. She had grabbed his arm with her free hand and bent it the wrong way.

“What the hell? Let go of me!” he cried, fire shooting up and down his arm. Though he tried to break free, her grip was much stronger than her figure suggested.

“We said no,” the pink-haired one said firmly.

“Let me go, you bitch!” he yelled when she twisted his arm further.

She did. Her little blonde friend was glaring at him. As they turned to walk away, Wesley reached out a hand to Arya’s shoulder because damn it, she would listen –

Before his fingers made contact, she spun around and decked him across the jaw.

He heard several spectators cry out, but when he regained his vision, both girls were out of sight.

Grumbling under his breath, he asked the bartender for another glass of scotch, but he was ignored. He raised his hand to gain their attention, eventually used his voice, but still, nobody paid any heed to him.

For the rest of the night, the entire bar ignored Wesley’s existence.

---

Trish Reynolds followed the two girls out of the bar.

The blonde was raving at her other friend, excited and buzzed on energy from standing up to a dickwad like that guy from before. “Dude, he didn’t even see you coming! I can’t believe you just punched someone.”

“Well, he was being disgusting,” was all the pink-haired one said.

Trish caught up to them a few paces later. “Hey, are you okay? Did you hurt your hand? Sorry, I saw what happened back there, and I’m a nurse.”

The pink-haired one – Arya – said politely, “I’m okay, thanks.”

“Your knuckles are bruised,” Trish pointed out. “You should ice that before it swells.”

“Thank you, I will,” she replied, smiling slightly.

Then, a blond guy came up to them. “Hey, sorry I’m late. I was – what happened to your hand?”

The blonde girl was vibrating with joy as she exclaimed, “She punched someone!”

“You punched someone?” he asked. He looked at Trish. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Trish,” she said the same time Pink Hair replied, “Just a concerned bystander.”

“Who did you punch?” he questioned, concern welling up in his sapphire eyes.

“Some sleezeball at the bar,” Blondie replied flippantly, batting away an invisible fly. “But you should’ve seen his face. Bet you he’s rude to his mom.”

Arya huffed. “He was gross, and he touched me. So, I punched him.”

The guy only said, “Well, good. Or I would.”

Trish felt like her presence was unnecessary, so she awkwardly said, “Okay, well, remember to ice that hand.”

Arya finally met her gaze full-on. “Thank you. Really. For the concern.”

Trish just smiled as the trio walked away.

---

Pierre Renard was close to killing the man next to him.

All day, Alex had spoken of one subject: the beautiful, tough, pink-haired girl he met at the airport in New York little more than a week ago.

Oh, he was happy that Alex was happy, especially since they had been best friends for over fifteen years, but there was a limit to Pierre’s patience. That limit was four shots of vodka ago.

The pair of friends had agreed to meet in Monte Carlo six months ago, and when Alex finally arrived in Pierre’s apartment, he immediately started telling the Frenchman all about his chance encounter.

He met Alex when the boy was sent to France for four months in order to learn the language from natives. Pierre remembered what Alex was like back then: quiet, prone to temper tantrums, and un utter monster to deal with. The Renards were old friends of the Montgomerys, but that was the first time Pierre was ever forced to interact with the other boy. Alex’s parents had put him under the care of their friends during the summer holiday he had from school, and neither of them liked each other very much at the beginning.

The event that finally made them call a truce was, in fact, a frog.

It was about six weeks after his arrival in Paris, and the sun had burned away all hopes of it being a cooler season.

Pierre’s parents forced them to go outside, to sit on the deck of their lovely townhouse. “Catch some sun,” they said.

They were just sitting in silence, Alex unusually cheerful that day, but he suddenly stood up and backed up slowly. He stared unblinkingly at something on the corner of the deck, eyes wide and hands trembling slightly.

“What?” Pierre had asked, in French, of course. “What’s wrong with you?”

Alex didn’t respond, just kept staring and staring and staring.

So, Pierre got up from where he had been playing a video game as far away from the little blond boy as he could get. When he waved his hand in front of Alex’s face, nothing happened. Not a twitch, or a blink. Nothing.

He looked to where Alex’s gaze was and saw a little green frog. Eyebrows scrunching, he glanced back at Alex, utterly incredulous. Could all this really be for some harmless animal that was barely even moving?

“Alex,” he started, then stopped when the boy’s eyes flew to him in panic, chest heaving. Something in Pierre’s chest constricted, a tightening that had him holding his breath.

It took him a few years to realize that the feeling was concern.

That day, with Alex staring at him like he could fix the world, he made a choice. He chose to remember that this boy had been sent thousands of miles away to a foreign country, in the care of people he had hardly ever met, and his basic French was hardly enough for him to ask a stranger for directions. He chose to remember that he hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t wanted his parents to pack him up and stuff him on a plane bound for a city he had never been to. He chose to remember that Alex was alone.

So instead of jeering, instead of poking fun at the eight-year-old boy with a silly fear of frogs, he just said, “Close your eyes.”

Alex didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask him why. He just did it. As soon as he did, Pierre got rid of the frog, nudging it back until it hopped onto the ledge below.

“It’s gone,” he told Alex, placing a cautious hand on his arm.

When Alex opened his eyes, he searched for the green amphibian, but it was nowhere to be found. He made eye contact with Pierre, and a small smile instantly brightened his features.

That was the day they became friends, and they had been friends ever since. Fifteen years.

Now, sitting in the Renards’ holiday home in Monte Carlo, both men nursing a drink, Alex was raving about this – what was her name again?

“…she’s so smart, I can’t even believe I met someone like Arya…”

Arya! Her name is Arya! Just keep nodding. Smile. Tell him you’re happy for him. Be glad that the French you helped him learn is impeccable. Perfect, almost. Does he even know he’s speaking French more fluently than ever before?

“…and she punched a guy for harassing her! I mean, have you ever met someone…”

Stay awake. Don’t fall asleep. He’ll just wake you and force you to listen some more. Open your eyes. You can tell him about the tumor tomorrow. Let him be happy.

“…too bad I won’t see her ever again, maybe. She’s in Toronto, though, so I could see her for Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or maybe get a weekend flight…”

Don’t tell him he’s an idiot for committing to a girl he’s seen three times. Don’t tell him that. Be his friend. Best friend. You can do that. Let him be happy. If he cries, you’ll cry, and then the tumor will probably kill you just to spare you the pain of making your best friend cry.

Another hour passed by, and Pierre woefully glared at the clock on the wall, noting that it was well past three in the morning.

After another ten minutes of Alex – now quite drunk – explaining how perfect this girl was, he couldn’t handle it anymore. He just couldn’t. It didn’t help that his control drowned in the vodka two hours ago. Did the doctor say something about staying off the alcohol?

“Alex!” he burst out. “Can you please, for one minute, just stop talking?”

The blond did not, in fact, stop talking. If anything, his words gained fervor.

Pierre eyed the corkscrew on the table and contemplated the amount of pain he would be in if he shoved it through his ear. Would it hurt more than listening to Alex illustrate the gloriously rosy picture of Arya Whatsherface?

Probably not. Nothing could hurt more than this. That’s not true.

Eventually, Alex’s words slowed, then faded into snores.

Pierre released a breath, readjusted his position on the couch into something more comfortable, and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow. Tell him that you’re dying tomorrow. Not tonight. Let him be happy tonight.

---

Sherry Maddox really hated walking.

But her doctor said if she didn’t, her limbs would atrophy, so she chose the lesser evil. Everything in her body ached: her bones, her muscles…everything. Still, she wasn’t a liar who broke promises.

Jacob Maddox was a highly successful lawyer before he died thirteen years ago, and he gave her his apartment in the Upper East Side back when they were only engaged. Sherry missed her husband dearly every day, and it didn’t help that every man she saw was an utter and complete imbecile.

All of them.

She was in Central Park on a fine August afternoon, and she’d found a path less frequently trekked about six months ago, around the same time her doctor found out she had locked herself inside the fabulous apartment for nearly four months. It wasn’t like she had any children to visit her, or friends – what were those?

All she had was Jacob. He was the only one who didn’t find her aggressive, or annoying, or incredibly forward. But he died a long time ago, and she had been alone ever since.

Just as she turned the corner, she heard a sound. Deep inhales, sniffling, and some kind of light shuffling.

Sherry had been around enough crying idiots during her brief five years as a nurse – which was how she met her wonderful husband – to know when someone was busy grieving.

Still, her heart lurched in her chest at the sight of the young blond man with his hands covering his face, tears forming a wet stain on his shirt. The bench he was sitting on was secluded and surrounded by great big bushes that would keep any passersby from seeing him. Though, of course, the sounds he was making would be enough to draw the attention of a teenager listening to music in Georgia.

Quietly, so as not to startle him, she sat down with a soft whoosh of breath.

He was still crying, and it almost seemed like he wasn’t even aware of anything but whatever it was that was causing him to make those terrible sounds.

Eventually, he calmed down and wiped his face, though his nose remained pink. When he noticed her, he didn’t jump or ask what she was doing there. Sherry supposed that it was odd to find a withered old lady suddenly seated next to what clearly seemed like a grieving session, but he didn’t say anything.

They sat in peaceful silence in the warm light of the afternoon, and she wondered why he was here, of all places. Surely, he should be with friends, or family?

“Have you ever lost someone?” His voice was rough, as if he hadn’t spoken aloud in days.

Slowly, Sherry nodded. “My husband,” she murmured softly. “Years ago.”

“How did you…?” He let the question hang in the air, though his meaning was clear.

“I didn’t. I carry my grief like it is the most expensive piece of jewelry I own, and I own plenty. Still, I stopped treating it like a disease, like something I could find a cure for.”

Briefly, she wondered if she should’ve given him the more traditional advice of remembering whoever he lost, that you never truly lose someone if you can still recall your memories with them. Yet, Sherry hadn’t had someone to be honest to in a very long time, and telling the truth was very…liberating, in a way.

His eyes sought hers. “Why?”

“Because grief…it never goes away. And if it’s never going to go away, then I thought, might as well treat like the diamond that makes me more beautiful than an ugly cockroach that has burrowed its way into my skin,” she said, finally turning to look at him face to face. “Young man, whoever you lost, did they make you happy?”

He answered without hesitating, “Very.”

“Then be grateful that the diamond is shiny and gorgeous, instead of small and dirty.”

“We…we were best friends since childhood,” he said. “And then one night we were talking, or I was talking, actually, and I guess I fell asleep. When I woke up, he was on the floor, barely breathing. By the time the ambulance came…they were too late.”

“Heart attack?” she asked softly.

“N-no. His – his tumor ruptured. I – I didn’t even know. He just asked me to visit when I could, and, God, all I talked about was a girl I’d met. And he listened! He just listened. He didn’t tell me about the tumor, the cancer, any of it. I just…I didn’t even ask how he was. How his life was. All I did was talk about myself for hours, and then he was –”

She didn’t offer words of comfort or touch him for physical reassurance. Sherry just sat there in silence, hands folded neatly in her lap. A few moments passed like that, but when she could, when she found that she was able, she told him, “You will miss him. It will seem like the world shifted two inches to the left and back, but it will never fit quite right. For a while, even breathing will feel heavy, but heavy breaths are breaths all the same.”

When his blue eyes met hers, there were tears forming again, but he nodded resolutely.

The two strangers sat there in the afternoon sun of New York for hours, the silence a welcome solace. Later, when the light began to fade, he offered to walk her home. They never exchanged names or anything of the sort, but she couldn’t refuse.

It was the first time someone had done that for Sherry in thirteen years.

---

Calum Woodward hated Christmas with every single fiber of his being.

The lights, the presents, the children – oh, the children.

Sure, he was only a teenager, so he got several gifts every December, but there was something about this holiday that always grated on his nerves.

Maybe it was the way everyone was smiling. Always smiling.

He hated that.

Or maybe it was the fact that though he protested every year, his parents forced him to help out in the toy shop, dressed up as an elf. They paid him, but no amount of money would be able to make him happy to put on the red and green stockings. The hat. The bells on his sweater would jingle with every movement, and he couldn’t take a piss without asking someone to help him unzip the jumpsuit.

The streets of Toronto were overrun by December twenty-third, hundreds of people flooding the stores in a very pathetic attempt at getting a last-minute gift for their loved ones.

There was a commotion about two aisles from where Calum was ushering children toward the line for Santa Claus. He could hear two female voices rising, one distinctly angrier than the other. Sighing, Calum began to make his way toward them.

“That toy is for my friend’s sister,” one insisted. “Please give it back.”

“I think Mulan would be a much more suitable doll for her,” the other voice snapped.

By the time he rounded the corner, he saw an Asian girl – pink hair – lunging at the white woman only to be held back by a shorter Asian girl. The Caucasian lady was holding tight to a Belle Barbie doll, and aggression in every line of her stance.

“Arya, no!” the blonde Asian cried out, barely hanging on to her taller friend. “You can’t go to jail on Christmas!”

The pink-haired one tried to shove past the human barrier her companion acted as, saying sternly, “Meilin, move.”

“No. I can’t let you get arrested for physical assault.”

“I’m defending our honour!”

During this argument, the white woman slipped away, though Calum made a mental note to be as rude to her as he could while ringing up her purchase.

“We both know she’s going to get away scot-free, no matter how much everyone likes to pretend we’re the most multicultural country on the planet.”

“She’s a racist bitch!”

“No one is saying she isn’t, but you need to calm down. We can get the doll somewhere else.”

Calum hesitantly approached the loud pair, clearing his throat. “Is everything all right?”

Both women turned to glare at him, and he cringed.

Meilin huffed a breath. “Are all your customers that racist?”

“N-No,” he stammered out.

She narrowed her eyes, Arya doing the same, but then both of them got distracted by something behind him. Turning, he saw a blond guy standing in line with a smaller blond kid talking as they waited in line at the cashier.

Arya moved forward as if in a daze, disbelief colouring her features. “Alex?”

The guy’s head snapped up, mouth dropping open as he beheld her. “Arya?”

Meilin stepped up to where Calum was still standing in the middle of the aisle. “Do you believe in fate?” she asked, watching Arya and Alex with mischief in her eyes.

The reunited pair hugged briefly, and Calum said, “No.”

All Meilin said was, “You should.”

---

Aaron Montgomery didn’t like the pink-haired girl talking to his brother.

Alex only came home once every three months, and their time together always became some of his favourite memories. Alex was his brother. Who was this?

“How are you?” Alex asked her.

“I’m fine. Third year isn’t easy, as you know,” she said, smiling. Her eyes cut to where Aaron was standing with his arms crossed. “Is this your brother?”

Finally, as if he had forgotten Aaron’s existence, Alex turned and grasped his shoulder tightly. “Yeah. Aaron, this is Arya.”

Aaron kept his mouth shut.

“It’s nice to meet you, Aaron. Alex has told me a bit about you. You’re in seventh grade, right?” She glanced at Alex when his brother didn’t reply. “Are you getting last minute presents?”

His silence drew out.

Alex nudged him. “I met Arya when I went to Europe a few months ago. Remember that?”

Looking up at his older brother, Aaron decided to be nicer. Pierre had died during that trip, he remembered. Alex came home in July and was depressed for weeks after.

“Yeah,” Aaron answered. “Hi, Arya. Are you Alex’s girlfriend?”

Arya’s mouth dropped open, her face turning bright red.

It was Alex who said, “No, she’s not.”

The hand on his shoulder tightened considerably.

Another girl came up to them, this one with blonde hair. “So, I thought you were supposed to find us in London.”

Alex stopped smiling, and Aaron wanted to kick the girl for bringing up Europe.

“Yeah…my plans changed,” Alex offered in response.

The two girls shared a look, and Arya shook her head. Then, as if they were one person, they both said, “We have to go.”

They walked away before Alex or Aaron could react.

Before they could step outside, though, Alex said to him, “Stay here. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Aaron stared as his brother chased after the girl, and he rolled his eyes.

He would have to get used to this Arya girl.

---

Deborah Chen knew her daughter was dating someone.

Something must have happened last week when she went Christmas shopping with Meilin because her good mood hadn’t faltered since then.

Debby wasn’t an idiot. She was Arya’s mother; she knew what was going on.

Arya didn’t come home after New Year’s Eve because she had spent the night with her friends from university. When she finally came in through the door the following morning, she reeked of alcohol. But Debby wasn’t surprised, really, since this was definitely not the first time.

Instead of berating her daughter for being hungover, she just sent her off to shower the smell off before her father would come home from work. Henry didn’t approve of alcohol in the slightest. When Arya came home the first weekend after she started university sporting pink hair, Henry lectured her for two hours. It was only Debby’s meddling that made him stop.

Arya was more stubborn than her parents combined, but she did well in school. She was proficient in playing the piano, guitar, and violin. After a while, Debby and Henry had gotten tired of picking a fight with a daughter that was clearly bulldozing her own path in the world.

Though she would never admit it, Debby was glad. She didn’t want Arya to be docile or mindlessly obedient to the ways of society. That was the reason she had forced her daughter to go to her mixed martial arts training every other day, and the day Arya was able to confidently beat five consecutive people on the mat, that was the proudest day of Debby’s life.

Arya was her baby girl. Her only child. She wanted Arya to thrive no matter the situation.

Today was the second day of January, and it was past eleven o’clock in the evening. They didn’t give Arya a curfew, not as long as she continued to inform them of her whereabouts. It was the deal they made after she moved into the U of T dorms three years ago: they wouldn’t nag her when she decided to come home for the holidays.

Henry was already snoring away in their room, exhausted from dealing with his clients, but Deborah couldn’t sleep unless she knew her daughter was safe.

All Arya had said earlier in the day was that she would be home late because she was going out with friends. If she didn’t come home before midnight, then Meilin would be receiving a very strongly-worded phone call.

At half-past-eleven, a pair of headlights lit up the living room. Debby stealthily snuck toward the window, opening the curtains enough to be able to see outside.

She could hear Arya’s laughter as she exited the car, and a young white man appeared from the driver’s side.

Ah, so this was her boyfriend. At least he’s good looking, and he has a car. Arya probably met him in school.

Debby gave herself a pat on the back for leaving the window slightly open for this exact purpose. She could catch bits and pieces of their conversation.

“- wait until I opened the door,” the young man was saying.

“I don’t wait for anything,” Arya said firmly, though she was clearly still laughing.

“Oh? Is that so? That doesn’t explain it, then,” he teased.

“Doesn’t explain what?”

“How you waited for me,” he said, grinning broadly and putting his hands on her waist.

“I did not!” she protested, though she did step closer.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t need to believe me for it to be true,” she pointed out, and Debby silently agreed with her daughter.

“Okay,” he acquiesced. “Then I’m glad I found you again, still unattached.”

“It’s not like you looked for me after Monte Carlo – ”

Monte Carlo? She met him in Europe?

Arya stopped before she could finish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to –”

“I know,” was all he said.

They stared at each other for several moments, and Debby knew how that would end. She turned away so she wouldn’t have to watch her daughter kiss her new boyfriend.

A few moments later, the front door opened quietly, soft footsteps sounding in the dark.  

Not realizing that she was still shrouded in the shadows, Debby asked, “What’s his name?”

Arya cursed loudly. “Mom. Can’t you not stand there in the dark?”

Debby waved away her complaint. “What’s his name?”

Her daughter groaned in exasperation. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Arya.”

Meekly, she said, “Alex. His name’s Alex.”

“You met him in Europe?”

“You were listening? Mom –”

“You didn’t tell me about him,” Debby said, crossing her arms.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Arya tried, but paused. “We…I haven’t seen him in months. I only ran into him again last week, Ma.”

“Do you like him?”

“What?”

Debby just raised her eyebrows, knowing that her interrogation would be much smoother than the one Henry was sure to give her.

Arya relented. “Ugh. Yes. I do, okay? So?”

“So, is it serious?”

“Mom.”

…

“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s only been a week.”

“How did you meet him?”

“At JFK. He…he heard Meilin call him hot in Mandarin. He speaks Mandarin, by the way. And French. And Spanish. And some Russian, apparently.”

“Where does he study?”

“Columbia.”

“He’s American?”

“No, he’s from here.”

“What does he study?”

“Biotechnology.”

“Family?”

“It’s been a week, Ma.”

“I taught you to look for the signs, Arya.”

“He had language and music tutors growing up. Played on the provincial basketball team during his bachelor’s at U of T. Said he was often sent abroad for months in order to learn a new language.”

“You know I wasn’t asking if his family has money.”

“Well, that’s all I know about his family. He has a younger brother named Aaron, and he never talks about his parents, but I get the feeling that both of them are busy with work.”

“So, you’re going to do long-distance with Alex?”

“Maybe. Probably. New York isn’t too far away.”

“Okay. Go to bed, Arya.”

“Night, Mom.”

---

Natalie Lim loved to paint in the park.

On the weekends when she wasn’t studying for her exams or obliged to go home and spend time with her family, she would go to Berczy with art supplies tucked under her arm. A blank canvas, choice paints, and a few hours always served to quiet the noise in her head.

Every other day of the week, she’d be reading something for her French Lit classes, but Saturdays were for her. Just for her.

All of her friends constantly criticized her antisocial tendencies, but she didn’t want to explain that their company was exhausting, that every hour that went by with people who were loud and free and happy was another hour she would rather be painting.

When she was young, her parents noticed her proclivity for the arts, and so they took her to drawing class every few days. However, it quickly became apparent that the medium she excelled in was oil paints. Every stroke of her brush across the canvas took away the stones stacked up in her heart, piece by piece until she was lighter than air once more.

February was always dicey in Toronto, weather-wise. Yet the sun shone brightly today, clouds nowhere in sight. She quite liked painting clouds but had to admit that it was much simpler to just paint the layers of blue at the top of her canvas. Her spot was relatively secluded, away from the fountain where couples sat and the grass where children played.

A girl she vaguely recognized came into her range of vision, but she couldn’t quite place her. Maybe she’d seen her in school? The pink hair would be awfully difficult to forget.

Natalie wanted to put on her headphones then, but something stopped her. It was as if an invisible hand halted the motion of her hand on the brush, and her attention was drawn to the other girl.

She was on the phone, pacing a ways away, but still close enough that she could catch parts of the whisper-shouted argument.

“…said you’d come two weeks ago, then last week…”

“…I waited…”

“…can’t just go to New York out of nowhere…”

“If you don’t want to see me, then just say so…”

“…so far away, anyway…”

Whatever was said on the other side of the call caused the pink-haired girl to scowl and pause with her hand on her hip. When the girl almost saw Natalie listening, the latter focused back on her half-finished painting.

“Not everyone can afford to just fly all the way to New York, Alex!” the girl suddenly yelled. “I’m not made of money like you are – that’s not what I meant – just forget it.”

Natalie watched as she sat down, head low in defeat, turning her phone over and over in her hands. A few minutes later, though, she picked up her phone when it rang.

“What?” she demanded. “Make some effort? Make some effort? I call you every single day, Alex! I told you I can’t just randomly ditch my co-op to see you, and I sure as hell don’t have the money to just – no, I can’t just get a job.”

A pause.

“Because this isn’t worth it!” she cried out. She visibly inhaled deeply. “I love spending time with you. I love you. But I’m tired of having this fight. I’m tired of feeling like I’m doing everything wrong when I’m not. I have work. You have work. We fight all the time, and I know it’s because we haven’t seen each other in weeks, but we knew that would happen when we started this.”

Natalie painted her figure on the bench, pink hair flowing in the cold winter wind.

Then, the girl said, “This isn’t working,” and she started crying. Silent tears, and her voice was so calm Natalie was sure that whoever this Alex was, they would never know that her cheeks were soaked.

“I – I can’t do this, Alex. I refuse to feel guilty for not having the money to come see you or not having the time to do that either. And it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. I – I gotta go.”

The girl wiped her cheeks before the tears could freeze permanently. She looked down at something in her lap, but from this angle, Natalie couldn’t see what it was.

“I know you’re listening.”

Natalie jumped, startled when she realized the girl was staring straight at her.

“I – I wasn’t,” Nat stammered, heart pounding in her chest.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t being discreet.” She laughed. “Can’t imagine how many strangers have heard me make the exact same phone call before.”

The silence drew the very moisture from the air. Natalie licked her lips once. Twice. Her mouth was suddenly so dry.

“How – how long have you been with them?” she asked, finally, finding her words.

The girl considered her question. “I met him almost two years ago in July, in a freak coincidence that seemed like fate pushing us together. But we started dating December of that same year, so I guess we’ve been together about fourteen months.”

Giving up on pretending like she was actually painting – her brush hadn’t touched the canvas in almost ten minutes – she sat down gingerly next to the pink-haired girl.

“I’m Natalie,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Arya,” the other girl murmured softly, grasping her hand firmly.

“Did you break up with him just now?”

Arya loosed a breath that could’ve been a laugh, but it sounded tired. Forced.

“I don’t know. I guess.” She glanced over at Natalie. “Does it sound like I did?”

Pursing her lips, Nat answered honestly, “It sounds like you guys just need to have a heart-to-heart. A proper one.”

Arya bit her lip, eyes unfocused but directed toward the fountain.

Natalie added, a moment late, “In person.”

There was a strange, instant camaraderie between Natalie and Arya in that moment. Two strangers who barely knew each other but tossed in the same pot that was cooking who-knew-what.

“Do you have someone?” Arya asked suddenly, staring intently.

Natalie found that she quite liked the brusque manner of speaking that Arya so easily commanded. A powerful sort of confidence that would tear walls down at their foundation.

So, she answered, honestly, “She died of osteosarcoma last year. I haven’t been able to move on since.”

Instead of pity, Arya’s eyes hardened. But not cruelly, not out of disrespect. Involuntarily, Natalie felt her spine strengthen, her backbone snapping back into place. That was the sort of feeling Arya inspired in others.

Arya said, gently, “You don’t have to move on.”

Bemused, Nat didn’t speak. Just looked at the other girl.

Without prompting, Arya elaborated, “I always found the idea of ‘moving on’ to be quite ludicrous. You don’t just leave them behind, you know? Death…it happens to everyone. It’s the only certainty we get in this life. But it doesn’t mean that every time someone’s gone – it’s not like a passenger that just gets off the bus.”

“The bus?” Natalie scrunched her nose. “What?”

Arya sighed. “I don’t know. I guess, I just figured…we start life with an empty bus. And you fill it up with your family, your friends. And when they die…they don’t just simply get off the bus. They’re still passengers, you know? I figure the only way someone gets off the bus is if you kick them out entirely.”

“Did someone close to you die?” Natalie asked tentatively.

A wisp of a smile crossed Arya’s face briefly. “A long time ago. My best friend, Ian. We were thirteen, and it was an accident. I raced him on our bikes, and I was always a bit faster than him.” She paused, and her voice was subdued, still grieving. “I heard a crash, and when I turned around…the car had been backing out of a driveway. Didn’t see us coming. Anyway, he was knocked down, and neither of us wore a helmet that day because the grocery store was only a couple blocks down the street. He had a pretty big brain bleed, and he was in a coma for about three days before he…left.”

Slowly, curiously, Natalie continued, “So, he’s still on your bus.”

Arya’s eyes met hers. “Yeah. I’d never shove him out, and I think as long as I still remember him, as long as my memories of him still make me happy, then why on earth should I let him off the bus? I’m not going to leave him behind.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, both lost in their own thoughts of the ones they loved. The gorgeous February afternoon sky grew darker the longer they stayed quiet, but neither of them seemed inclined to get up first. It was an unspoken notion that both of them would stay until they were both ready to leave. Strange – finding comfort in someone you didn’t know. Yet Natalie supposed that grief was a binding force as much as anything else. Everyone grieved.

Eventually, Arya said, “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly.”

Though she was more alarmed than curious, she forced her voice to stay neutral. “Sure.”

Arya heaved a sigh. “I still have a year to go until my bachelor’s is finished. Alex already finished his master’s, and he’s in New York working. If you were me, would you end it?”

“I don’t think –”

“Please, Natalie. Everyone’s telling me different things. I think your outsider’s perspective is just what I need right now.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Does he love you?”

“In his own way, I know he does.”

“Is there a future for you together?”

Arya didn’t respond for a while, lips pursed.

“I…I don’t know,” Arya said slowly. “He wanted to move away as soon as he could, and with the inheritance he received after his grandfather passed away a couple months ago, he hasn’t been shy about using it to stay the hell away from Toronto. I think his brother is the only thing keeping him from just running off to the ends of the earth. Well, his brother and me.”

Natalie didn’t think she was done rattling off her thoughts yet, so she kept quiet. The sun had started to set in the west, and people were soaking up the last rays of sunshine Toronto would see for a few days. There was a warning that a blizzard was approaching, so Torontonians naturally flocked to the public parks beforehand.

“He’s so stubborn,” Arya muttered. “So hell-bent on doing anything that keeps him away from his parents that – no. He’s offered to get me a ticket so I can fly out to see him, but that just makes me feel…dirty. Bought. And I know he means well, which makes it worse! When we first started dating, it was so much easier. We had Thanksgiving break, Christmas, Easter, and summer. Then, he graduated. Got a job. It’s been seven months since that happened and I’ve only seen him twice. Twice! I can’t afford to just sneak off during the weekends, and I don’t have the luxury of enough free time to get a job. Today was the first day in weeks where I’m not sequestered in a library somewhere keeping up with my studies while doing my co-op placement.”

When Arya just picked up a twig from the ground and started snapping it into itty bitty bits, Natalie stepped in. “Would you break up with him over the phone?”

Arya laughed, a sort of manic giggle that set Nat’s teeth on edge. “No, of course not. He’d get fired for getting up and walking here if he had to. Alex is not a fan of indirect confrontation. Hates it more than anything, which is why our fights get so out of hand. I’d ask one of my friends to loan me the money, and I’d fly down to see him.”

“You won’t do that just to talk to him? Sort this out?”

Humming in reply, Arya shrugged. “I don’t think there’s a talk we could have that would fix this.”

“Maybe he’ll propose instead,” Nat supplied hopefully.

Arya barked out a laugh. “The earth would freeze over before that ever happened.”

“Maybe he’ll agree to come back,” Nat pointed out.

“No.” Arya shook her head. “He won’t. Not even for me.”

There was a quiet resignation in those words, as if Arya wanted more than anything for this Alex guy to just drop everything and be with her. Like she wanted to be enough for him.

Natalie knew better than anyone how that always became a distant daydream.

---

Chris Taylor hated New York.

He had no idea why he’d acquiesced to Rose’s insistence that they come here for their annual holiday. Yet, as his beautiful wife continued to casually drop the topic into every bloody conversation they had, he knew he was going to agree eventually. He just didn’t think he would give up after a measly three weeks.

After realizing that she took after both her parents, which was how she ended up as cheerfully astute as she did, Chris knew that he would never win an argument with her. Not when she was so fiercely independent, and definitely not after she had just passed her final exams.

Chris may not be the next best neurosurgeon in Britain, but he wasn’t stupid. Rose would get her holiday in New York, in February, and though he might not tell her every single night like she said her parents did, he did love her. Very much.

So, here he was, freezing his bollocks off in the frigid winds of the East Coast.

At least he wasn’t subject to the great outdoors any longer.

They were supposed to fly out three hours ago, back to the welcome respite that London offered, but the severe snowstorm that barreled through New York prevented any planes from departing JFK or any other airport within a hundred-mile radius. No passengers had even been allowed to check-in, so they were waiting outside near the ticket counter.

Rose was already lounging in one of the chairs, feet propped up on their hand luggage. She was so beautiful, just like her mother.

Chris remembered the day he told her he was going to marry her. That was over a decade ago, when he was still a schoolboy of fourteen. He had been a slight child, and even now, at twenty-seven, Rose was only a couple of inches shorter than him. Of course, it didn’t help that her father was a tall man, and she had apparently inherited those genes.

Still, Chris was bullied for his late growth as a child. He hadn’t hit puberty until he was almost sixteen, and people never stopped gossiping about the smartest girl in the school hanging around a guy like him. They didn’t understand.

Rose was only thirteen when he told her they would get married someday. It had been during their lunch break, and he’d suddenly said it out loud. She’d laughed herself silly. Still, they had been tentative friends for a little while by then, so she didn’t immediately write him off.

People often asked how he knew she was The One. How he knew that this girl, with her unruly curls and superior intellect, would be his wife.

The answer was simple: she packed a wallop.

They first met because a group of boys had crowded around Chris and were very intent on humiliating him to the point of public urination. What they didn’t know was that Chris was used to far worse from his mother, and he didn’t back down. The only thing they had left was physical violence, and so when they moved to hit him, they were surprised to find a girl from a year younger scowling up at them. Down, really. Girls tended to hit puberty earlier, and she wasn’t small.

Even at that age, Rose was already gaining the attention of all the boys around her age. None of them dared touch her, of course, after they had a single conversation with her.

Anyway, those boys had told her to move aside, and she’d demanded that they leave Chris alone. It didn’t really paint Chris in a bright light, and he was man enough to stand up for himself, so he walked right up to her until they were shoulder to shoulder.

“Is this your little girlfriend, Chrissy?” the lead bully had taunted. “You need a girl to back you up?”

“A girl can back me up as well as any boy could,” Chris replied levelly.

He didn’t know it then, but that was when Rose decided she liked him.

“Leave him alone, Theo” she said again, stance brooking no space for argument. “You just bully him because he told Miss Green that you groped her arse, you slimy prat.”

“Move aside, Ari,” the bully snapped.

He made to shove her aside, but she struck with agile precision.

She walloped him across the face. Hard enough that he stumbled backward.

Chris could still hear the whimper that erupted from Theo’s mouth. It was a glorious sound indeed.

He could also still hear her hiss, “That’s not my name.”

No, indeed. The children at their school had taken to calling her by part of her surname because they couldn’t be bothered to say the entire word, and they knew she guarded her first name like it was a treasure. She was bossy, alarmingly clever, and had the ability to berate anyone who crossed her in five different languages.

He was nudged out of his reverie by a light tapping on his arm. It seemed like Rose had been trying to garner his attention for a while, judging by the exasperated gleam in her eyes.

“You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?” She snorted. “Of course, you haven’t. Anyway, Mum is asking when we’ll visit them at the house next. Dad’s getting a bit stir-crazy, what with his early retirement and all. Still can’t believe he gave up the lab to travel.”

There was a growing noise behind them at the ticket counter, but he ignored them.

“We’ll come see them over the weekend,” Chris said, lacing his fingers through hers. It always seemed to keep him grounded. “And your dad didn’t give up the lab to travel, Rose, you know that. He quit because he wants to spend more time with your mum, and frankly, I agree with him. They can afford to, anyhow.”

Chris had studied Medicine alongside Rose, but after they had Liam, he decided to stay at home to care for their son. He knew how much his wife wanted to be a neurosurgeon, and he was more than happy to take a step back and learn all about his infant child.

“I’m just glad the factory is closed, so to speak. I’m pretty sure they would’ve had more kids running around the house if Mum wasn’t –”

She was cut off as a blond man at the ticket counter started growing more agitated.

“No, I need to get to Toronto –”

“I’m sorry, sir, but there are no flights departing New York until the storm dies down –”

“It’s barely even snowing anymore!”

The blizzard still raged outside.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back. There are no flights –”

“When will the next flight leave, then?” the blond man demanded, running a hand through his unruly hair.

“It depends on the weather –”

“Put me on the list,” he said instead, writing something down on a piece of paper. “I know you have one. As soon as a seat is available, let me know. I’ll pay, whatever it is.”

The frazzled man behind the counter agreed, glad to be rid of the upset customer.

Rose glanced at Chris, and, raising her brows, merely said, “Well, I hope whatever is in Toronto can wait.”

---

Tommy Marković missed his parents.

Gran always told him that they loved him very much, and they would want him to be a good boy and do his homework, but Tommy just wanted them around. More than anything.

He had been five when they went out for a drive on a foggy November night. That was the last time he ever saw them.

Tommy was seven now. Gran was knitting in front of the fireplace, and she’d been there since the blizzard caused the TV to stop working.

The snow covered the ground and reached halfway up the car doors, and he knew he’d have to help Gran shovel it tomorrow so that she could go to the store.

For now, though, Tommy just stared out the window. He loved snow. He remembered playing outside with his dad, Mom watching from the doorway sometimes with the laundry basket under one arm.

He could hardly recall them now, and as he grew older, their faces grew fuzzier and fuzzier. It was only their wedding photo above the mantle that kept him from forgetting them entirely.

The blizzard had struck precisely at eight in the morning. It was evening now, and the streetlights cast an orange glow upon the thick white blanket. Snow still fell in light waves, not nearly obstructing his entire field of vision as it had been a few hours before.

Tommy had his dinner an hour ago – mac and cheese, as was his favourite – and he’d been staring out the window ever since. He had noticed when the streetlights came on, and when the occasional big car drove by. Gran always tutted when one did, muttering about safety.

Sometimes, Tommy caught Gran crying in her bedroom at night. Gran was Mom’s mom, and sometimes she shared stories from when his parents were still alive. Memories.

Another car came by and stopped at the house across the street. Tommy was young enough to still have perfect vision, so he saw the blond man jump out of the car and make his way toward the front door of the Chens’ house. It wasn’t long before Arya answered the door.

Arya Chen was the prettiest girl Tommy had ever seen. His neighbour, Frank, had said that she was scary, but to Tommy, Arya was perfect. She was funny and kind and she had pink hair.

She looked after him sometimes when Gran went to visit Gramps at the hospice. Arya always said that they were just two friends hanging out, not a babysitter and a child.

Tommy didn’t like how Arya hugged the blond man at her front door. He frowned when the hug didn’t stop after two seconds, or three, or four.

It lasted twelve seconds! That was longer than any hug Arya had ever given him.

Gran called out, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

When Arya led the blond man inside, Tommy just scowled.

---

Henry Chen decided that the young man who claimed to be Arya’s boyfriend was tough.

Well, he had to be, considering the kind of person that she was. Still, it wasn’t easy for a father to accept that his daughter might be besotted by a man. Of course, Henry had known of Alex’s existence for months, but the young man hardly ever visited. Arya finally brought him home about three months after they started dating, during a long weekend in March. Alex came to visit whenever he was in town, even if it was just to say hello and pay his respects to his girlfriend’s parents.

Henry only cared because he knew Arya loved Alex, and she was happier whenever she had spent time with her boyfriend. She only came home during term time twice a month, but he was glad to see his daughter whenever he could. He knew he hadn’t been with her much as a child because of the commitment to his job, and their relationship had never been particularly affectionate.

It was functional and stable, but their hot heads got them into more arguments than not. Often, if it wasn’t for Debby’s frustrated interference, they would continue yelling until their voices grew hoarse.

Arya was more stubborn than her father.

So, though he wanted to disapprove of housing her boyfriend during a blizzard, the way she narrowed her eyes warned him that she’d sneak Alex into the basement through a hole she’d indubitably carve herself.

“We’re going to talk,” she announced, shortly after the initial pleasantries had been exchanged between them all.

When Henry made to stop his daughter from dragging her boyfriend downstairs, Deborah placed a hand on his arm, nails digging in.

“Of course,” his wife agreed softly. When the couple had disappeared down the steps, Debby whirled toward him. “Leave it alone, Henry. Can’t you see there’s something wrong?”

“Did they break up?” he asked gruffly. Emotions were a difficult thing for a man like Henry.

Debby rolled her eyes. “You know, sometimes I wonder why I married you at all. They didn’t break up. Alex drove all the way here from New York through a blizzard, Henry. You don’t do that if you’re planning on breaking up with someone.”

“He could have died!” he exclaimed, well aware of how hazardous the weather conditions could mean for vehicle users. Why were the borders even open?

His wife snapped, “He didn’t. It’s fine. Now hush, I’m trying to listen.”

She had wandered over to one of the floor vents near the fireplace, and she beckoned him over wordlessly.

Sighing, and knowing that she would force his feet to move through sheer will alone, he joined her in her relentless eavesdropping. He knew the floor vent was connected to the basement, and sure enough, if he kept still, he could hear faint voices flowing up.

“…isn’t working,” Arya was saying. “We’ve talked about this, Alex. I’m still in school, and you’re working in a different city. A different country. Don’t look at me like that – Toronto and New York may seem similar, but you still have to cross a border – but that’s not the point.”

“I love you, Arya,” Alex said quietly.

Debby and Henry strained to hear what their daughter said next.

“It takes more than just love to make a relationship work, Alex. You know that. We can love each other until we’re blue in the face, but it doesn’t change the fact that long-distance is hard. Maybe…maybe we should just cut our losses now.”

“You’d give up on me? Just like that?”

“What’s the solution, then? We see each other every six months and argue on the phone every day –”

“We only argue because it’s a phone call –”

“I think video chatting would result in the same thing –”

“Arya.”

“Fine. You’re right. Don’t get smug. We still don’t have a solution.”

“A year, Arya. Fifteen months. We can do that.”

“We’ve only been together fourteen months, and seven of those were apart. You can’t honestly tell me you think that whatever we’d have fifteen months from now would be worth waiting for, Alex. I get that we won’t know, and I don’t want to just give up –”

“Then don’t.”

They were silent for a long time after that.

Henry didn’t want to know what that meant. Did she kill him?

Their voices were quieter when they spoke again.

“Do you love me?” Alex asked.

“You know I do,” Arya replied. “I didn’t think I would, honestly. I mean, I met you in a foreign airport, and then in a foreign country, and you disappeared for wholly reasonable things. Then, I run into you out of nowhere in a toy shop, for crying out loud. I just… Okay. Let’s say we wait these fifteen months until I graduate. We’ll keep calling and see each other when we can. What happens after that?”

Alex didn’t answer for three whole minutes. Henry counted the seconds.

“Do you see a future with me, Arya? Getting married, kids, grandkids, all of that? Do you see that with me?”

Tough. Definitely tough. No ordinary man would just come out and say it like that.

“I…I don’t know, Alex. I’m only twenty-one. I didn’t – I haven’t thought about anything like that. Ever. I’ve just focused on school. And you, I guess. But I – do you see that with me?”

“I wouldn’t have risked my life driving here if I didn’t.”

More silence.

“Why are you asking me now if I see that future with you?”

“Fifteen months. I’m telling you now that I want that future. With you. I had terrible parents, and you know about Pierre.” Who the hell is Pierre? “But I guess I’m more traditional than I thought I could be. I’m telling you now that I see that with you. I think we suit each other. Fifteen months. I’d propose. Get married. We’d get a tiny apartment somewhere in Brooklyn. We…we’d be together. God knows you’re smart enough to get a job anywhere you wanted in the city. But all of that means nothing if you don’t want any of it. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“Is this an ultimatum, Alex? If I can’t give you a definitive answer right now, will you leave?”

“I’m only twenty-five,” he said, as if that answered everything. “I wouldn’t leave. But I also wouldn’t see the point in continuing this if you definitely don’t see any of that with me. We’d just be putting off the inevitable.”

“I don’t not see it with you, if that makes sense. I just…I’m not like other girls, okay? I don’t think about getting married or having kids –”

“I know that, Arya. I’ve known that for months. It’s actually one of the reasons why I love you so damn much. That, and your utter unwillingness to let anyone do anything for you.”

“Hey, I told you I had that guy handled. You just didn’t believe me.”

What guy?

“I was trying to defend you!”

“While I appreciate the sentiment, he did knock you out cold. And then I had to defend you. Kicked his sorry ass, really.”

“We’re getting off topic.”

“Don’t we always?”

“Arya.”

“Fine. I don’t know if I see that future yet, Alex, and it’s not because I don’t love you enough or because I’m not as traditional, as you put it. I just…I don’t make ten-year plans. I make ten-day plans. Ten hours, if I can help it. I haven’t thought of anything beyond finishing school.”

“Okay.” When Alex spoke, his voice was a little more unsure than it had been before. “But if you…if you change your mind, either way –”

“I’ll tell you.” Her tone was no-nonsense, candid but not harsh. “Will you kiss me now?”

Henry jerked away from where he’d damn near been kneeling over the floor vent.

He saw Debby laughing at him as he bolted out of the room.

---

Sonya Ramos was the best Microbiology student in the entire school.

Everyone acknowledged it, whether respectfully or begrudgingly. People tended to be scared of twelve-year-old girls who were in third-year university. Her parents had nurtured her formidable intelligence since she was two, so it was really no surprise to her family when she graduated high school at ten years old.

But she was still a child. She could finish any exam given to her in under an hour, and could probably describe her own treatment plan if the doctor was even slightly less competent than she deserved, but Sonya was merely a girl.

She loved reading fiction. Her parents tried to dissuade her from that, but after proving that she could finish all her work, graduate early, and still have time to swim competitively, they allowed her to do pretty much whatever she wanted. So, she read. The more romantic the novel, the better.

Of course, her parents were still pretty strict about the kinds of books she could read, given that while her intellect had matured beyond her years, her emotional development was still very much a work-in-progress.

Right now, she was indulging in some cute little modern fairy tale, fit with perfect scenery and unreasonably good-looking characters. Her parents had moved the entire family to Toronto when she started there, and they allowed her to sit at the park across the street on some nice afternoons. It was August, so the blistering heat coupled with the unchecked humidity made her curly black hair frizzy and wilder than it usually was. Still, she liked how it felt hanging around her shoulders, and it gave her a better vantage point for snooping on people she shouldn’t be snooping on.

She was grateful for the shade of the tree above her as she read, the words blurring until she had nearly finished the novel in less than an hour. That was another thing: she went through books like an infant went through diapers. Like most things, she blamed it on her genius smarts.

Her eyes caught on a couple walking into the park, hands intertwined and a silly smile on both their faces. Arya was no stranger to her, what with the pink hair and all, but she didn’t know who the boy was. Older than Arya by a few years, a few inches taller than her, and dreamy beyond reason.

Arya was the only girl in Microbiology that actually spoke to her. Everyone else either pretended she couldn’t possibly be smarter or ignored her existence entirely. It was acceptable to Sonya, of course, as she didn’t have the time to bother with people who couldn’t bother with her if she wanted to be Prime Minister before she turned thirty.

Oh, yes. Sonya Ramos had big dreams. Bigger than her hair.

At this point in time, however, watching Arya Chen laugh with the blond boy was more important than winning that election fifteen years from now. Fine. Perhaps just more…concrete.

Arya was a tall girl, even though she was Asian, but Sonya let out a happy sigh as she watched the boyfriend have to lean down a bit to kiss her briefly.

Will that ever happen to me?

Not soon. Not with anyone who would see her as something more than a gawky tween with a big brain.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever the boy said made Arya’s laugh ring throughout the entire park. It wasn’t the tinkling giggles that those too-pretty girls on TV sounded like. This was more of a guffaw, and it caused more than one set of eyes to turn toward the couple.

But Arya didn’t seem to care. Nor did the boy, judging by how his lips curled upward as he watched his girlfriend shamelessly express her joy.

Sonya decided she wanted to hear whatever it was they were speaking about. Prime Ministers can be bestselling romance authors with a PhD in Microbiology, right? She should probably be planning for her future instead of eavesdropping on a conversation, but it wasn’t as if they were making it particularly difficult. All she had to do was sneak to the tree next to them and stay quiet.

It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

She was almost caught about four times before she reached the tree, hand pressed against her chest as if that would stop her rapidly beating heart from escaping through her chest wall and running away.

Sonya was at the ideal vantage point; she could see and hear everything, and thanks to the boulder in front of her, she wouldn’t be spotted easily. Arya was leaning against her own tree, the boy’s arm braced above her head as he leaned in so there was scarcely any space between them. This was the type of pose one saw on the cover of a romance novel, and Sonya was pleased to see that Arya was even in a black dress with silver accents.

Picture perfect, indeed.

Now, for the eavesdropping.

“Sure,” Arya said softly. “You know I don’t mind, Alex.”

What was she agreeing to?

“Aaron’s been asking about you lately. He says your Instagram has been kind of quiet, and he was wondering if that meant we weren’t together anymore.” The boy – Alex – was toying with a strand of pink hair, twirling it around in his hands. “I told him we didn’t break up, obviously, but he does make a very good point.”

Arya’s brows raised. “Are you telling me to post a picture of us on Instagram so that people know we’re still an item? Because I thought you didn’t care enough to notice.”

“I may be less attached to social media than you, but I do see the things you put on it, especially considering sometimes it may be the only time I see your face in any given week,” he replied, a sad sort of tilt to his smile. “But no, that’s not what I meant. I just meant that maybe if I spent more time with him, talking to him, maybe he wouldn’t have to ask about my life as much as he does. I just – I hate going home, Arya. The only reasons I come back are you and Aaron. I’d gladly be anywhere else if you guys weren’t here. And it doesn’t help that he’s ten years younger, so he’s got quite a few years until he moves out from that hellhole.”

“Hey, they’re still your parents. You don’t have to like them, but they did raise you,” she reminded quietly. “They provided you with a world-class education and allowed you your freedom. Not everyone is even that lucky, Alex. As for your brother…spend time with him. Talk to him. I don’t mind shorter phone calls –”

“Whatever the solution is,” he cut off, “it’s not going to be that. This is the first time I’ve seen you since February. I’m not cutting our phone calls short. I’ll just…I’ll find the time. I’ll make time.”  

Arya tried to smile, Sonya could tell, but it ended up as more of a frown anyway. “When do you go back?”

He sighed, leaning so his forehead was against hers. “Sunday night. I’m taking the red-eye. I have a meeting Monday morning.”

It was already Friday. Sonya felt like pouting at the news, so she did. They couldn’t see her anyway.

“You’ve only been here three days!” Arya said.

“I know,” is all he said. “I’ll be back next month, I promise. For a weekend, maybe.”

Arya bit her lip, seemingly thinking about something. “I… I shouldn’t. Never mind.”

Alex was having none of that, thank God. Sonya wanted to strangle Arya for leaving her in suspense like this. At least with a book, she’d get to the revelation sooner rather than later.

“What is it?”

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Arya cleared her throat a couple of times. “I saved most of what they gave me from my co-op placement, and I got a part-time job when that ended. I’ve been juggling that job the last couple of months since the summer term started, but…” She looked at Alex, who was watching her with confusion written on every line of his face. “I have my finals in a couple of weeks, and then I’m off for about ten days before I start my fourth year.”

She stopped after that, and uncertainty was such a foreign expression on a girl like Arya, like she’d been barreling her way through life and had never paused to consider anything else.

“Okay…?” Alex prompted.

“I could come to New York,” Arya blurted out. “For those ten days.”

Alex just stared at her blankly.

“If you want, of course,” Arya added, laughing nervously. “I mean, I get it if you’re busy or something but –”

Sonya had to slap a hand over her mouth to stop the squeal of delight from erupting when Alex leaned down and kissed Arya for a few seconds.

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes twinkling in happiness. “Please. Come. I’d love to have you in New York with me.”

The grin that appeared on Arya’s face lit up her whole body, and she kissed Alex’s cheek.  Something else was still bothering her though, that much Sonya could tell. It seemed like she wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“What’s wrong?” Something dawned on his face. “Arya, what I said that day, about you getting a job –”

Arya put a finger to his lips. “No, I wanted to do this. Don’t worry. I wasn’t killing myself to make the money, and the majority of what I’ll be spending is from my co-op salary.”

“What’s bothering you, then?” he asked gently, cupping her cheeks so she’d look him in the eyes.

She bit her lip again, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

“If you want me to take it off, you could just ask,” he teased lowly.

Sonya blushed bright red at the implication. She might be only twelve, but she was far from stupid.

Somehow, Arya’s cheeks were even redder than Sonya’s. “That’s – I mean – I –”

“I was only joking,” he said, concern welling in his bright blue eyes.

“I know,” Arya assured, though she fell silent once more.

“I’m not exactly the paragon of patience, if you haven’t noticed.”

The smile that graced Arya’s face was genuine this time. “I know that, too.”

“Do you not want to come to New York?” Alex asked hesitantly.

“Alex, I want to come to New York,” she said, in a tone that gave no room for misinterpretation. “It’s just…”

The same blush was back as she leaned up and whispered something in Alex’s ear.

Sonya could only make out the words haven’t, idea, and yet.

By the time she was done explaining whatever it was she needed to explain, Alex himself was sporting scarlet cheeks. “Oh,” he said dumbly.

“So…?” Arya asked expectantly, waiting for a proper answer.

Resolve shone in Alex’s eyes when he spoke next. “It doesn’t matter. Stay with me.”

“You sure?”

There was clearly more to her question than just a desire for confirmation, but Sonya didn’t really understand what the undercurrents of this conversation was. This was the first time in her life where she didn’t understand something, and that, more than the stares she got in class, was irritating.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Alex said, kissing Arya’s forehead lightly. “Besides, it would make me feel better knowing that I’ll be coming home to you instead of having you lost in the city somewhere.”

Arya didn’t respond, but she did pull his head down toward hers once more.

Huffing, Sonya stomped back to her tree, as she’d started calling it, and opened her book once more. At least she knew those characters would speak clearly.

---

Veronica Wright despised heights.

But what was a woman to do without a degree – or even a high school diploma – and a two-year-old son trusting her to care for him if not get any job she could?

Rockefeller Centre wasn’t all that bad, really, if you could overlook the fact that you could potentially fall to your death – if you managed to climb over the barricades, of course – at a moment’s notice.

She might be a little irrational, but she wasn’t completely wrong.

Veronica had been working there for about a year now, ever since Riley turned one and could be trusted with her lonely father in his cramped Queens apartment.

People passed by her, probably not even noticing that she was standing there, but that was her job as one of the security officers. Snippets of conversation floated through the room, and she was grateful she wasn’t out on the decks suffering the heat of New York in August.

There was a couple waiting for the elevators to take them back down, wrapped up in each other so much that Veronica wanted to puke. If her envy was water, she was sure she could drown an army the longer she glared at the besotted pink-haired girl and blond guy laugh together.

As the first elevator opened and the guests were corralled inside, the couple ended up right in front of Veronica. Perfect.

She eyed them both, barely concealing her exasperation. Still, Veronica was only thirty, so she could appreciate the male form when it was handed to her on a tall, blond, muscular platter.

The guy said, “I swear, if someone hits on you right in front of me one more time –”

“You’ll what? Get one punch in and then be knocked out cold again? Sweetie, please. You might look tough, but leave the brawling to me, yeah?”  

“I can punch someone just fine –”

“How about I teach you how to punch someone, hmm? How to actually fight properly? I still won’t let you step in for me, but you could defend yourself.” The girl smiled, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “If you get good enough, we could even spar.”

The guy laughed. “You’re insane if you think I’d voluntarily get on the mat with you. I might not like getting my ass handed to me, but I’m fine watching you beat the next creep into the wall.”

As the girl smiled, Veronica could almost see the gears in her brain turning, could almost see whatever epiphany she had playing out right before her eyes.

“What?” the guy asked when the girl just continued to stare at him.

Veronica rolled her eyes when the girl kissed him right there, standing in line at Rockefeller Center on a random August day.

“What was that for?” the guy asked a few moments later.

The elevator arrived, and people began walking in.

“You told me to tell you when I changed my mind,” was all the girl said.

When the doors shut behind them, Veronica heaved a sigh.

---

Oliver Xu had been a waiter in Manhattan for over twenty years.

He knew how proposals worked. Guy walked in, announced his intentions, they hid the ring in the cake or the champagne or whatever. It was really annoying as day after day, the masses of New York continued to be flooded by ill-fated lovers who honestly believed in true love and fate and whatever the hell else Hollywood was lying about.

True love was nonexistent. There was no such thing as “meant to be” or “happily ever after.” It was just simply unthinkable. Impossible.

Still, he’d be slipped a crisp fifty at the end of every successful “will you marry me” rendition that passed through his dining room, so he couldn’t complain all that much.

Tonight was no different.

The blond young man had walked in two weeks prior on a warm May evening, instructing the maître d’ exactly how he wanted his proposal to play out, and everything was in place. Candles, delicious food, wine…and, of course, the sizable diamond hiding within the drool-worthy chocolate cake.

Everything had gone according to plan. The young woman with pink hair was decidedly lovely, all five-foot-nine of her decked out in a pretty dress and respectable heels that matched her height with her soon-to-be-fiancé’s. There were no complaints with the food they were served, the young man seemed to be making her laugh every other minute, and the cake was ready.

The only thing none of them had considered was if the girl wouldn’t see the damn ring.

Women who were brought to this fine establishment usually had rose-coloured glasses, ready to declare their agreement to marriage within five feet of the entrance.

It seemed this Alex had misjudged his lady.

Oliver saw it happen: the girl took a slice of cake with the glint of silver in its depths, and she eagerly directed it toward her waiting mouth without once looking down. Alex, bless the boy, had seen the ring, and in his panic, knocked the entire fork out of her hands, chocolate cake flying across the floor. The patrons at the table nearby were startled, but Oliver was already there cleaning up the mess on the ground.

“Alex, what the hell!” the girl exclaimed, confusion and surprise in her eyes.

“I – I’m sorry! You were gonna eat it!” Alex cried out, getting up to pick up the ring.

“Well, of course I was gonna eat it, you idiot, it’s cake,” she tossed back angrily, still not understanding what her boyfriend meant.

“No, Arya, you were gonna eat this,” Alex emphasized, holding up the ring in his hands.

The candles and dim lighting did nothing to mask the blush spreading across Arya’s cheeks, nor did it hide the sparkle of the diamond as the now-kneeling young man looked up at her. Everyone nearby was staring, all the women and some men with hands held up to cover their shocked gasps. It would be impossible to misunderstand the situation as it was: a young man on his knees holding up a ring to a surprised young lady.

“Fifteen months we’ve waited, Arya,” Alex said to her, uncaring of the stares and whispers. “I told you what I was going to do by the end of it. And now that it’s here, I want you to know that everything I promised you, everything I said…I meant it all.”

The silence dragged on for a few seconds.

Arya leaned down to whisper, “You didn’t actually ask me the question, Alex.”

Some people pressed their lips together to keep from laughing at her words.

Alex blinked. “Oh, right,” he said, a nervous edge to his voice. “I just…I thought it was implied.”

“Ask me, Alex,” Arya breathed, a smile beginning to light up her face. “Ask me to marry you.”

He cleared his throat, stared right into her eyes, blue against brown. “Arya, will you marry me?”

Oliver watched as the girl nodded mutely, a grin and laugh colouring her features in a beautiful shade. “Of course, I will,” she said a belated moment later.

Alex surged up and hugged her, spinning her around on the spot as the restaurant erupted into gleeful applause. They kissed, and when they parted, he slid the ring onto her finger with reverence. Oliver was close enough to hear Alex say, “I love you.”

The girl responded, “You drove through a blizzard for me. I’d be a fool not to love you, too.”

An hour later, as the couple exited and Alex finally gave him the fifty-dollar bill, Oliver was still thinking of how Arya had almost consumed or choked on her own engagement ring.

It seemed like the Cake Proposal would need some warnings beforehand.

---

 Meilin Yang was dismayed to learn that she was pregnant.

She wasn’t lacking a loving husband or a stable financial situation or anything like that, no. She just simply didn’t want to be a whale in a bridesmaid’s dress.

Not even a bridesmaid’s dress, but Matron of Honour!

“This is all your fault, you know,” she sniped at Jake as he helped her into her comfiest pair of sandals for the wedding. Her belly was nice and round at six months, but it was a bit bigger than normal due to the twins she was carrying. “I told you we should wait a little while before having a kid because I knew Alex was going to propose, but no, you just had to have your kid now. Kids, actually, according to that sonogram last week.”

Jake was a doting husband, sure, but he wasn’t a pushover either. “Babe, it takes two to do the horizontal tango, if I remember correctly.”

“Well, you won’t be getting any of that from me for a few months, so keep your sarcasm in check,” she bit out, determined to win this fight. Was it even a fight, really?

Her husband just laughed. “Sure. When you drag me into a supply closet in two hours and blame your hormones, I’ll remind you of that.”

She just sniffed, walking out to find Arya.

It was starting to get a little difficult to maneuver her body around, but she managed to get all the way down the hall where the bride was probably freaking out about her pending nuptials.

Meilin sometimes still couldn’t believe that Alex and Arya had actually worked out. For now, anyway. It seemed like her belief in fate wasn’t ridiculous anymore.

“Hey, Ri, how are you doing?” she asked without preamble.

Arya was fiddling with the veil sitting atop her head, fingers trembling. Her mother was making her a cup of tea, it seemed, but other than that, there was nobody else in the room. Both bride and groom wanted a small wedding, so it was basically strictly family and close friends. Less than sixty guests.

“I’m fine,” Arya said. “But this damn thing just won’t stay put.”

“Here, let me try,” Meilin offered, knowing that the veil was perfectly fine where it was. Still, she made a show of adjusting the pearl-encrusted comb. “There. It’s good now.”

They had been friends for their entire lives, Meilin having been born the same day as Arya. Their mothers had bonded over their shared labour, and when both babies popped out sixteen excruciating hours later, it seemed like the stars were aligning. Now, twenty-three years later, they were still close enough to be sisters, and Meilin actually did have a sister.

Arya stared at herself in the mirror, and Meilin appraised her. Her dress was beautiful, with full-length lace sleeves and completely modest-looking until she turned around and one could see that the back had been entirely left out. When the two friends had gone dress shopping with Mrs. Chen, Arya was only picky about it being backless.

“It’ll drive Alex crazy,” she confided later that evening.

Meilin decided there were some things friends could keep from each other, especially given how Arya had basically moved herself to New York after Alex proposed back in May. Sure, she told her parents she found herself an apartment and was just looking for a job – which she found within a couple of weeks – but Meilin knew better.

Arya turned around after sufficient staring, immediately touching Meilin’s prominent baby bump. “How are little Agatha and Frankie?”

Meilin smacked her hand away. “Stop giving my children hideous names.”

“I’m just being a good auntie,” Arya offered, grinning wickedly. “How about Sam and Taylor?”

“Which one is which?” Meilin demanded, knowing that her twins were of different sexes.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with gender-neutral names. They might even appreciate it later,” Arya pointed out, smiling when she felt one of the babies kick against her hand.

There was a knock at the door, Mr. Chen’s head popping in. “Ladies, are you ready?”

Arya briefly panicked, but she schooled her features. “Yeah, Dad. Ready to give me away?”

“I’ve been ready since you stole the keys to the Porsche and froze it in the ice cream when you were five,” Mr. Chen replied, making everyone in the room laugh with him.

Once the wedding started, Arya’s jitters came back full force. Meilin was already standing at the front where Alex and Aaron were, both looking quite dapper in their suits, so she could see Arya’s fingers tremble slightly as she held on to the bouquet tightly. Mr. Chen’s pained smile was also evident, but it took a trained eye to see it. Gruff he might be, but he was a man who took pride in being able to control his emotions.

The Montgomerys were seated at the front, all fake smiles and barely-concealed disdain at the thought of their golden boy marrying anyone who didn’t crap diamonds. Arya had said that Alex was tempted not to tell his parents of his wedding at all, having been cut off financially when he finished his master’s, so there was really no obligation besides blood. It seemed he had invited them after all, but he didn’t look their way at all. Not even a twitch.

A quick glance at Alex told her that she wasn’t the only one that had noticed Arya’s nervous shaking, and his frown didn’t go away even when she finally reached the altar. It wasn’t like anyone could speak while the officiant was droning on and on about the commitment that marriage was, how pure the love between Alex and Arya was.

When the old guy asked for Alex’s “I do,” he gave it readily. But when it was Arya’s turn, she opened her mouth, and no words came out.

Whispers began slithering through the crowd at her disability to say the damn words.

Then: “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Arya was running down the aisle, gorgeous ivory skirts trailing behind her as she exited the room before anyone could stop her.

Meilin stood there, shocked. Utterly shocked. Pre-wedding jitters were normal, so she hadn’t thought that Arya would leave a man at the altar–

But Alex was already chasing after her, reacting faster than everyone else present.

“Don’t you even think about it,” Jake told her a split-second after she’d started contemplating how quickly her feet could move at this state. “I know you wanna run after her, babe, but I won’t hesitate to chain you to the floor before you hurt our unborn children.”

“Jake-”

“Alex already went after her, Meilin. Just wait,” Jake pleaded, coaxing her to sit down where he’d been sitting before. “Just wait.”

---

Alex Montgomery pursued his runaway bride.

Of course, she’d run away, you idiot! You knew she would!

No, I didn’t.

She’s been weird all month, ever since you –

No.

He didn’t let himself think beyond catching her, following the train of her dress as she rounded corner after corner in the lodge, and Alex thanked whatever gods existed that Arya was too panicked to have found the door leading outside. If she had gotten into a car, or a cab, or any kind of mode of transportation, he knew he’d lose her.

And he wasn’t going to let that happen. Definitely not.

When he met Arya all those years ago at JFK, inadvertently hearing her murmur to her best friend about how attractive they found him, he didn’t think it would lead them here – getting married. The only thing he was thankful to his parents for was his multilingualism because he knew that he might never have found this with Arya had it not been for his ability to speak Mandarin.

They were strangers, even after that wonderful evening in Barcelona, even after finding her again in Monte Carlo. But he wanted to get to know her, more than anyone. So, when she called out his name that day before Christmas Eve almost three years ago, he made the choice to give their relationship a shot. A real shot, without the coincidences of running into each other in Europe.

His parents were distant from him, and the only people he had growing up were Pierre and Aaron. He didn’t have anyone else he was particularly close to, despite having made several friends all over the globe. Having Arya was the blessing he had never counted on.

“Arya,” he breathed out, stopping when he saw her standing at a dead end.

She was so beautiful in her wedding gown, her skin glowing in the soft light of the lodge. There were tear stains on her cheeks, and they made his chest tighten at the sight.

“Arya,” he said again.

They had found this place by accident, really. It was a spontaneous drive on a Saturday morning, and the moment both of them had seen the building from the outside, they knew that this was where they wanted to get married.

Does she even want to marry you now?

He ignored that voice again.

“I – I’m sorry,” she cried, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I – I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of everyone.”

Slowly, so as not to startle her, he came closer. “I don’t care about any of them, Arya. I care about you. What’s wrong?”

Don’t say it’s me. Don’t walk away from me. Not now. Not after everything.

After she accepted his proposal, she’d come to New York about a week later. She demanded to find her own apartment, even though he had offered his to share. It wasn’t like living together would be quite different, considering she’d stayed with him for ten days in August last year.

They had kept a mountain of pillows in between them on the bed, and after two nights of that, she angrily shoved all of them aside and rested her head on his chest. He’d been asleep, but it wasn’t like he minded. When he woke up the next morning to find himself breathing in her pink hair and his arm thrown over her waist snugly, all he’d done was go back to sleep.

He wasn’t a horny teenager anymore; he could control himself if that was what she wanted.

She had a key to his apartment, and most nights, she liked to just stay over. Arya was very stubborn, unlike any of the other girls he’d dated before in the past, so she was adamant that he stick to the No Kissing Before Bedtime rule.

Alex was quite persuasive on that front.

Now, looking at her standing there in the glow of the fairy lights they’d decorated the whole lodge with, tears still flowing freely down her cheeks, all he wanted was to whisk her away to his small apartment in Brooklyn. He just wanted her to be somewhere comfortable and private.

Arya admitted, in a voice so small that it cracked his chest, “I – I’m terrified.”

Alex decided that he hated the way she was unsure of herself. He hated it because it was everything Arya was not, and it was ill-fitting on her confident shoulders.

“I’m scared, too, if that helps,” he said, drawing ever closer. “I don’t know if I’ll be a good husband, or a good father, though I’m hoping we’ll wait a while before that.”

Her face fell, and she couldn’t meet his eyes after he said that, turning away slightly.

Does she not want to marry me because she thinks I’ll be an awful husband? A horrible parent?

Still, his stubborn love for her wouldn’t let him give up that easily. He bridged the last four feet between them and put his hands on her shoulders. She took a step backward, effectively taking his hands off of her.

Maybe she just doesn’t want you that way. You botched it, Alex. One night. And it was definitely a mistake, judging by the guilt that plagued her for a month until today. Maybe you’re just not good enough for her.

“Arya?” His voice was weaker than he’d like it to be. “Is this about the – about what we did?”

Her eyes met his for a flicker of a second, and then she looked away again.

An answer. Clearer than water.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though he knew they had both made a conscious decision that night. They hadn’t spoken of it after she told him the following morning that they shouldn’t have done it before they were married properly, even though she was mostly sure that wasn’t all he wanted her for.

Oh, that had turned into a fight. A short one, once she started crying and confessing that she’d been waiting that long just so she couldn’t be used. Just so she knew she wouldn’t regret it. Alex had spent the night comforting her, assuring her that he wouldn’t have done everything he did if that was all he wanted. There were easier ways.

Still, she had avoided being alone with him in either of their apartments for the last month. They went out, and at the end of the night, she always closed her door and locked it for good measure. He hadn’t loved her any less, hadn’t shown her that he cared less just because they had prematurely taken a step forward in their relationship.

Arya shook her head. “It was a mutual decision, Alex. It wasn’t your fault.”

So, what’s wrong?

He dredged up every shred of patience he had, knowing that if he even asked something the wrong way, she’d leave him entirely.

She hadn’t left yet. He could still fight for this.

“We don’t have to get married if you don’t want to,” he tried, coming close enough to cautiously grasp her elbows.

Arya let him move her arms so he could hold her instead, hugging her with his cheek on her head the way he knew she liked it. It wasn’t long before she was crying again, but at least she was hugging him back. At least she was still here.

He would stand there for years if he had to, he realized. He loved her, and he knew that despite whatever mistakes they might have made, she still loved him. So, if she needed time to sort through whatever thoughts were making her hands shake with nerves, then he would gladly give it to her.

A while later, and after shooing away several people who had tried to intrude on their obviously personal conversation, Arya finally spoke up.

Quietly, she said, “I can’t marry you without telling you.”

“Telling me what?” he asked instantly, hoping to meet her eyes, but resigned to waiting yet again.

She inhaled, exhaled. Once. Twice.

“I’m pregnant.”

His mouth snapped shut as his mind raced.

Pregnant. She’s pregnant? After one night? Didn’t we use –

“We forgot protection,” she said, moving to back away.

He didn’t let her. “Just let me think for a second. Please.”

Her arms tightened around him.

Pregnant. On her first try. We better keep that in mind for next time.

Next time? Alex, focus.

Right. Money. We have money. I have money, at least. We already put the deposit on the two-bedroom. Although, we thought it was just going to be a study. Doesn’t she want to do a master’s?

Do you even want to be a father now, Alex?

“Are you sure?” he asked, like an idiot. Of course she was sure. This was Arya. “Sorry, I mean, do you want to keep it?”

It never hurt to ask a woman what she wanted to do with her body.

“Of course, I’m going to keep it!” she exclaimed, indignance straightening her shoulders. “If this changes things for you, then –”

“Arya, I’m happy,” he said firmly. “I’m…surprised, definitely, but I’m happy. I told you almost two years ago that I wanted all of this with you. Did I want it now? Probably not. But I’m not going to walk away from you because of this, or because of anything else. What type of jerk do you think I am?”

She studied him, eyes narrowed in deliberation. Head to toe, and he let her.

“You said you didn’t want this yet,” she said, something akin to accusation in her tone. “I just…I didn’t want the baby to be the reason we got married, or the reason we stay together.”

He didn’t mean to, but his snort drew her attention. “Sorry. It’s just…you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell anyone. We were going to get married regardless. How would the baby have changed that?”

She wrung her hands, worrying her bottom lip again. “I guess I didn’t want you to think I did this on purpose to trap you or something. I don’t know.”

“I love you. You love me. If you wanted to trap me, then you succeeded in falling into it with me.” He grasped her chin, tilting her head up so she’d meet his eyes. “Will you still marry me?”

She smiled then, and the tightness in his chest disappeared.

Arya just said, “I’ve already put on the dress. Might as well.”

---

Arya Chen said the two words when the time came.

“I do.”

She really meant them. Honestly.

Everyone was still whispering amongst themselves, but she didn’t care anymore. Alex knew what she’d been hiding from him the last couple of weeks, and it didn’t change anything.

The smiles and laughs were all genuine now, and her hands had stopped the incessant shaking. She felt like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders, and every time she caught sight of Alex looking at her, or, more accurately, her stomach, the air tasted sweeter.

Arya didn’t think she was a romantic. She’d grown up with a love of the sciences, believing in empirical data instead of the emotional, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t have feelings. She had impulses, passions, and desires. Her reflexes were quicker than a cat’s, and she knew how to defend herself quite well.

Alex was the thing she never saw coming. From meeting him in a freak coincidence, to finding him six months later in a toy store, of all things… He’d changed her life. She would never tell him that, of course, and it wasn’t like she needed to. He could do without the ego boost.

So, when he’d shown up that February night with an empty gas tank and an even emptier stomach, she hadn’t been expecting him to tell her he wanted a future with her. Arya wasn’t inexperienced when it came to dating; it just never got as far as the Future Talk. It never got beyond a few kisses, some occasional heavy groping, and a tendency to lose interest.

She could talk to Alex for hours and not get tired. He was funny, charismatic, and witty enough to keep up with her sarcasm. He defended her even when she didn’t need him to, and though she found it condescending at first, it was clear that he did it out of an instinct to be there for her.

Moving to New York was an easy decision, one she had a heated argument with her parents for, but they knew they couldn’t stop her. She was financially independent – her scholarship had covered her tuition – and therefore, she could pretty much do what she wanted.

She still wanted to laugh when she thought about his proposal, if only because he had risked her choking or breaking a tooth on her engagement ring. Saying yes had also been easy.

Saying yes that night in November had also been easy. Waking up the next morning had not.

Her period never came last month. She knew what it was likely to be, but she wasn’t ready. She was only twenty-three, and unmarried! Just because she was engaged didn’t mean that Alex would want her and the product of their impulses. He could still change his mind.

She was worried he’d leave her because he didn’t want that responsibility so soon.

There was a part of her that wanted to wait until after they were married, especially since he was going to find out about her pregnancy eventually. She’d managed to avoid giving anything away, and a tiny part of her was proud that she could act as if nothing was wrong. Still, when it came time to say, “I do,” and marry him before, she couldn’t commit to it knowing she was lying to him about something that big.

But it was ridiculous, of course. He told her he wanted that life with her, hadn’t been ashamed to tell her that at all.

Still, she needed him to know. Probably a little dramatic of her to run out during the wedding, but she couldn’t make up her mind until then.

“Stop thinking about it,” Alex murmured in her ear, squeezing her hip lightly. It seemed her runaway thoughts were quite clear. “It’s fine. I’m not upset, and we’re here now.”

Inhaling, she gave him her best smile, and his ensuing grin acknowledged it was real.  

They had talked for a little while longer after he’d asked if she’d still marry him, and when she’d convinced both herself and him that she did, indeed, still want to marry him, they’d returned to the ceremony.

Oh, people were surprised, and more than one person had questions, but they all shut up eventually when the officiant began his spiel again.

A couple of hours later, when their guests started to leave, she turned to Alex and said, “I don’t regret it, you know. I mean, I regret that we did it a little early, but I don’t regret you. I don’t regret us.”

He wrapped an arm around her and told her, promised her, “I love you.”

Their eyes met, and a wordless exchange passed between them. He knew her like the back of his hand, and she understood him. All of him.

No matter what would happen in the future, in their future, she felt like they’d be okay. They had similar enough temperaments to result in a screaming match or two, but they also felt the intrinsic need to keep coming back to each other. She felt like she could do and be anything she wanted to with him, and she hoped that she could impart the same sense of security for him. Alex was the only one who could make her feel brave even when she was at her worst, and when he sometimes receded into himself from the weight of his emotions, she knew how to comfort him.

Arya had only recently started to accept that perhaps fate was real.

“I’d kick your ass if you didn’t,” was all she said. “But I love you, too.”

---

Author’s Note: If you’re still here, thank you so much for reading! This story is very close to my heart. Hope you enjoyed it.