That One Windy Evening

Whisper.

"I have got no reasons to live," he said. I wish I could cure him. I wish the things that happened to him should happened a different way. The only person I have feelings for-love for, crush for-maybe crush is a small word to describe my feelings, which I've been carrying for him these past 3 years, says he doesn't have a reason to live.

How can I not be heartbroken? How can the only person I love seem to have no reason to live?

Seems to not make me one of his reasons to live?

As much as I am heartbroken, I am not much bothered by these questions. The reason is simple-the dude doesn't know I have feelings for him. "If you don't live, my reason for living dies too," I whisper, almost like murmur.

"What?" he questions, looking straight into my eyes with his black eyes, so black I can drown into them. But again, the eyes are never black; it's always the darker shades of brown.

"Nothing," I replied with horror. Horror of him actually listening to what I whispered.

"Oh, I thought you said something," he brushes this small, yet life-changing conversation into scattered pieces, so scattered I can hear them flying away with the wind.

The more I am relieved of him not hearing it, the more I want him to hear it. Want him to hear it and live.

The wind blows, the leaves rustle, and its almost dark. Not because the sun's saying his goodbye for the day, but the clouds are rolling in.

"I wonder why this place is so empty," I say as I look around the park and the benches around us. "People must have known about the storm."

"We knew too, yet here we are, sitting and crying about life," he says looking up at the sky. "I wish I could always be here, sitting in the cold breeze. Man, I love the cold breeze so much. But it's not gonna happen. It's always the damn rain after the beautiful wind and breeze."

"I never really get why you love the wind and cold breeze, yet not the rain. But I appreciate that, because your taste is quite unique," I say, knowing well enough that there are maybe, just maybe, many people loving breezes and winds with no rains.

"You always appreciate everything I like. I wonder what you like?" he asks genuinely curious. I can tell he is genuine because of the way he smirks and looks at me again with those black eyes. This time turning his whole focus on his left, towards me.

He never asks anything to me. In fact, I believe I am his least favoured among our group of friends. Perhaps it's because I am so quite and reserved.

What I like? I like him. I like you.

"Uh- I..." I suddenly can't remember anything else I like, and I can feel the uninvited butterflies in my stomach. No, go away butterflies! I don't want him to know that I am flustered with just him asking me what I like!

"Um... I like ice cream," I blurted out the most random thing.

"Ice cream, huh," he says shifting his focus and relaxing on his back and leaning down a bit this time.

"I... I heard you," he said in a really low voice. Like he whispered.

I know what he is talking about, but I cannot- I cannot, I didn't... did not wanted him to hear that. Because I am not ready. I am not prepared.

"What did you hear?" I ask, trying to act confused.

"You said, your reason to live would die if I don't live," he explains. But I don't reply back and look into the sky, unsure what to say.

After a few seconds, maybe a minute of him convincing himself that I won't respond, "It seems to me that I have finally gotten a reason to live, Eleanor." Steven said.