A Raven in The Phoenix's Nest

Ambush

Eren's POV

Ah, this nuance— the nuance I longed for. Ever been so close. Ever been so tight.

Then, it disappeared. Long gone. Maybe God erased it.

Maybe not.

No one knows for sure.

God likes to joke.

Because, now— in front of me— the nuance comes back.

For a moment, I feel at peace; I feel so released.

For a moment, I smell the wind— spreading the after-twilight fragrance.

Just for a moment.

"She's fine." I answered as briefly as possible.

"Thank God." she said in an even tone.

A little smile appears at the corner of her lips— disguised by her turned face and sigh that can be heard clearly in the silence.

So do I.

I'm wordless; awkwardly— helping the silence grow louder.

There is no more conversation after Annie said, 'Thank God'.

Our ego refuses to budge. No one wants to break the silence; no one wants to break the quietness. In fact, we're both turn away— bringing our backs to each other.

My legs swing bored. I can't keep my eyes on one point.

Left. Right. Up and down.

Like playing Pump It Up.

Sometimes, I cheat on my ego. Sometimes, I steal a glance at her— wanting to feel the nuance again behind her gray hood.

She is silent absentmindedly— ignoring me. Sometimes, she uses her cell phone— looking at social media, then closes it. Back to daydreaming.

The attitude is different from what she used to be. Back then, she was full of joy and color— didn't like being silent for a long time. Now, we're both embraced by the awkwardness. Sitting together; waiting for the train— sitting like strangers.

Is it because of my rudeness in college earlier? Was I being too harsh on her?

I start daydreaming too, staring blankly at the platform in front of me— letting my subconscious direct the memory and playing it out. Like a black-and-white movie in fifty's. Finally, THAT memory appears to play a role. Not the memory about my parents— another memory, ten years ago, that happened right before my eyes.

"Eren!!!"

"Annie!"

"No, Annie!!"

"ANNIE!!!"

Blood splattered— watering the flowers by the river. I couldn't help her. Like my parents, I couldn't help her. I saw Annie brutally murdered by a man I didn't know.

An evil man cut out a ten-year-old's heart— burned it and left it alone. A man whose face is so hard to remember.

"Annie," I finally have the courage to relent— to break the silence— to throw away THAT memory, "about what happened earlier in college, I... I didn't mean to be rude to you."

I take a short pause— set the tone and breath before speaking again. Keep talking without looking at her.

"You know... I... I was shocked. Messy. Angry. You just showed up without giving any news. You didn't even try to contact me. You also didn't tell me about the MIRACLE that brought you to this city."