A/N: Not satisfied with the ending. Will revise it when I can.
~***~
If walls could tell stories, it would take them longer than a hundred lifetimes to finish.
A thick woolen blanket was carefully placed on top of the cabinet on the right side of the corridor. Everything was bare except for the thin long cracks that trailed from the corner of the white-washed walls, but the toiletries were enough: there were two clean toothbrushes, two small bars of soap, two sachets of shampoo, a small tube of toothpaste, and two fresh bath towels were neatly hung in the bathroom. The sleeping area was just five small steps away from the bathroom. A huge mirror hung on the wall to the left, and there was a study desk and chair against it. Behind the study was a junior-sized bed.
Unless one would count the wilted tulips in the vase on the study table, the room lacked life. Room ninety-two wasn't exactly spacious, but it had to suffice, especially for a couple of people barely out of elopement.
The young lad opened the door and led the girl inside. Without another moment further, he pushed her against the wall and crushed her lips with his. He placed his arms around her waist and pushed his warm body against her soft, small form. For a brief second, he pulled himself away from her and leaned his forehead against hers. The young man propped her chin up, and he began to kiss her again, this time gentler, urging her to respond.
Finally, after a lot of coaxing, she finally opened her lips and let him in. Together, they began to taste and discover each other. She encircled her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, all while getting herself drunk with his kisses.
His lips tickled her earlobes, and she let out a faint sound. He then looked up at her and saw that she was sobbing. One by one, the young girl removed his fingers from her waist, unlocking herself from his embrace.
She was sixteen.
"This is wrong," said the young girl as she grabbed a towel to dry her hair. Despite her soaked clothes, she plopped herself on the bed. Dark circles were under her eyes. She was feeling cold, she had no money, and she hadn't even graduated yet. She gazed at the half-naked man in front of her. But at least, she wasn't alone.
He was twenty-one.
"It's the only way we could be together. My parents don't approve of us," he replied, completely aware of what she meant. He had nowhere to go. He only had his mere savings. He was working at his father's company. Come Monday, he was sure to become jobless. He stared back at her. But at least, he wasn't alone
She broke the silence. "This is wrong," she repeated.
He retorted, "Why did you come?"
Her tired eyes met his. She answered him with silence.
It was irrationality that led her to that room, and it was love that made her irrational. Love made her believe she could move mountains, catch the sun and the stars, and conquer the world. But they were only wildest dreams-never bound to come true, they forever remained to be figments of people's imaginations.
He knew his parents would catch them.
She needed the two thousand pesos his mother gave her.
He didn't know what to do next.
She had an ailing mother to attend to.
They went their separate ways the next morning-she to her school, he to the office.
**
Room ninety-two was newly refurbished. Everything was repainted-the walls white, the furniture mahogany brown. The room somehow looked clean, except for the same thin long cracks on the wall that still weren't out of sight. Nothing was rearranged. The cabinet was still by the left side of the corridor, the mirror on the right side. The same old vase stood on the study table, but freshly cut tulips were in it. There was now a bedside table, and on it was a small lamp.
