"And if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it somewhere only we know?"
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Maya Beaulieu, born and raised in Montreal, has heard the stories about Lance Stroll, the boy who grew up down the street of where she lived. All the reason to stay...
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September 28th, Montreal, Canada
For the second time in a row, Maya doesn't show up at the sunset.
I look at the messages I have sent her yesterday and today, she didn't respond and she turned off her read receipts.
She did show up the evening after she met Chloe in the café, she acted normal that evening, she signed Chloe's book. Nothing looked off.
We even talked normally again.
I sigh, stand up and climb down the ladder. The sunset is boring without Maya to accompany me, and her silence actually also worried me.
"Good evening, Mr. Beaulieu," Maya's Dad is just leaving the house, wearing his uniform for work. "Is Maya here too?"
He looks at me suspiciously, but he knows too that his daughter and I have been spending time together. "She is in her room, but she's been quite busy with her book."
"Alright, thank you," I let him pass by. "I will just quickly say hi, if that's alright. She hasn't been turning up at the sunsets and I don't want her to overwork herself."
"That's sweet of you, Lance. Her room is the second door on your left when you're up the stairs," He unlocks his car. "And next time, just call me Matías."
I nod, and raise my hand to him before heading inside their house, but as I make my way up to her room, I can't help but feel nervous; how Maya will react to my surprise visit? I knock softly on her bedroom door and wait for her response.
"Come in," She calls from the other side.
I push open the door and step inside, Maya sits cross-legged on her bed, surrounding by notebooks, loose papers, her laptop.
She looks up from her work, surprise immediately lighting up her face when she sees me, "Lance?"
"Hey Maï-Maï," I smile at my recently newfound nickname for her. I can't even remember how I came up with this name. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
"No, it's not important... just some writing, you know me."
I take a few steps closer to her, admiring how her face has lit up when she saw me, instead of whoever she expected to see, "I've missed you at the sunsets the last two days. I wanted to make sure you're not overworking yourself."
Maya's cheeks flush, and she starts cleaning the papers and notebooks on her bed, clearing space for me to sit as she taps on her mattress, "I've been caught up with this new story idea, and it's been consuming all my free time. I'm sorry... I should've let you know something."
I reach out to touch her cheek tenderly, "I like this color on you," I tease her, causing her to blush even more. "Anyways, I know how passionate you are about your writing. I just wanted to make sure you're still taking care of yourself while being passionated about your writing."
