Chapter 3 3

I remember the last time I fell in love. It was a hopeless love, impossible to happen.

I was a fifteen-year-old boy then. I was going through one of the worst periods of my life. My mother and father were about to break up. The fights at home were constant. The shouting had increased so much that neighbors were coming to the door almost every evening. Their warnings were in vain, they would never stop shouting. They would never stop hurting each other.

"Are you ok?" The howling sound of the wind pulled me out of my thoughts. His last words reminded me of the times I was in love. From where? Why was I thinking about this now? Did I feel like I was going to fall in love? No never. I would never make that mistake again.

"If you like the song, can I have my headphones now?" I asked and then swallowed hard. I aimed to cool the atmosphere and break the warmth that was slowly starting to intensify between us. I couldn't let it get into my mind, and seep under my skin so easily. If he did this, I knew there was no turning back.

Without answering, he took the headphones out of his ear and gently handed them to me. I blinked my eyes a few times and moved my hand towards his hand. While taking the headset, our fingers touched each other with a light touch. This touch was enough to give me goosebumps. It was like something stirred inside me. His fingertips began to move over my hand. His white skin slid over my white skin with very slow movements.

I should have pulled my hand towards myself and ended this. We had to stop contact or I would regret it. My eyes went to the honey-colored eyes in front of me. She was looking at me carefully from behind her curled eyelashes. My gaze fell on her smooth lips. Her full, red lips were parted. As if he were about to say something, he wet his words so that they would flow more easily from his lips.

"Your skin is so soft..." he spoke in a very low voice. So was his skin. I wanted to tell him this but I couldn't. I quickly took my hand away from him and put my hand into my coat pocket along with my headphones. The wind was startled by my sudden movement and retreated.

"Am I being too blunt?" he asked with a smile. This was the smile that blew my mind when I first saw it. His smile scares me but makes me want him...

"It's okay, I just don't feel very well," I said, speaking quickly. It may have sounded like a passing sentence, but it was real. I wasn't well.

My answer made his smile fade. It was suddenly erased as if it never existed. He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter behind him. He thought for a few seconds, lowering his gaze to the ground. Her light brown hair was becoming more messy with every move she made.

"You are a young person who has just started university. I see your peers swimming in excitement. They do not look like you, it is as if you are experiencing different emotions. You are acting like a side character in your own story." He turned his gaze to me again. What he said brought a bittersweet smile to my face. It was strange how a few words spoken by a stranger could describe me like that. I never thought I was such an easy person to understand. On the contrary, every doctor and psychologist I went to told me that I looked like a knot that was difficult to untie. The only way to untie me was to cut me off.

"I don't want to sound like a whiny child, but nothing goes the way I imagined. Imagine how hard it is for someone who loves getting lost in daydreams." I said and continued smiling. Dreams were often there to escape reality, not to come true. It's like that's what makes them so valuable. Dreams no longer have any magic as soon as they come true. They were valuable while being unattainable. This was a thought worthy of ungrateful human beings.

"Ah, dreams... When you dream them enough, they add color to your life, but when you overdo it, they prevent you from living the truth," he said with a confident expression and left the counter he was leaning on. He immediately turned to the small coffee machine.

"Do you dream often too?" I asked in a lively voice. I felt like we found something in common.

"I'm trying not to do that. It's a more dangerous job than you think," he said his voice getting lower and lower. I didn't quite understand what he meant.

What could be dangerous about dreaming?

"Which department are you studying in?" he asked, changing the subject. The way he changed the subject so quickly made me frown, but it didn't bother me. I shook myself and came to my senses.

"Psychology," I said in a strong voice. I was proud of my department. Spiritual science was perhaps the most vast and deepest of sciences.

Wind nodded his head up and down in response to my answer. It seemed like he was pleased that I gave the name of this section. He took out two mugs from the kitchen cabinet. One is black, one is white.

"What did you read?" I asked and let him prepare the coffee. I didn't come here to sit and chat for a long time, I just came to find my headphones and see him a little more. As always, things weren't going as I planned.

"Literature," he said as he pressed the button on the coffee machine. The machine started to work with a small noise.

"I thought you were studying art when I saw the paint smeared on you," I said curiously. My desire to talk was slowly increasing. Maybe being open to meeting people wasn't such a bad idea after all. I carefully sat down on one of the tall chairs around the small island in the middle of the kitchen and set my backpack down. After quickly taking off my coat, I hung it on the back of the chair.

The sentence I made made him look at his shirt for a few seconds. His lips parted as a slight smile appeared on his face,

"I was painting the walls of my room."

"Red... A different choice." I laughed too. I've never met anyone who deliberately painted their room red before. His honey-colored eyes found me. Even though I didn't know him yet, it was obvious that he was a different person.

He handed me the white mug filled with coffee. I carefully took the cup from his hand and placed it in front of me. I tried to warm my fingers by wrapping my hands around the porcelain.

"Colors have meanings and triggers, you know?" he asked in a soft voice. He took his black mug and sat on the chair opposite me.