Behind his dimpled smile and sugary eyes lies a past of hardships. Zee lives aimlessly, hopping from job to job, unable to keep stable employment. But when he is invited to take a position at the prestigious Haven Hotel, Zee's life changes from a le...
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Zee staggered, almost like he was going to reach out towards the stranger across the glass. The screech of the chair along the floor wasn't enough to break his hazy stupor. Nat looked up at him, but Zee's eyes continued to focus on the outside.
"Phi?" Nat spoke, but his voice was drowned out, "Phi Zee?" He spoke louder, gripping onto Zee's forearms bulging with veins.
He gasped, finally looking down at Nat who stared up with concern and confusion. Zee quickly whipped his head back to the window but the stranger was gone, as if he were spirited away. There was a tug at his arm again and Zee finally sat down. His eyes regained focus and he smiled at Nat.
"What's wrong?" Nat asked.
Zee shook his head and they exited the cafeteria. His eyes were low now, but they continued to drift back to the large windows.
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From the moment he walked out from the cafeteria and back to the locker room, Zee's mind was filled with the image of the stranger. At first, the strongest image - memory - of the stranger was his eyes. The dark orbs glimmered, even as they faced away from the sun. But as Zee continued to walk away further from the warm sunspot, he began to remember the details that framed the young man's gaze. The slight curl of his fringe. The way his hair, although black, gleamed a little under the sun. The downcast corners of his pink lips. The little bit of forehead shining and peeking through his fringe. The ironed suit, a latte-brown, with a sweet blue blouse under it. The laxed fingers dangling past his sleeves. The silver hoop earrings hanging from his small earlobes. The way his eyelids flickered lightly, almost sparkling. How the sun cast itself behind him, creating a halo. The way his skin, almost translucent and fragile would have looked paired with white. Or black. Or under-
Slam!
Nat slammed his locker as Zee was still in a daze, shocking him awake. He quickly shut his locker as well and followed Nat up to the ninth floor, resuming his work.
Interestingly, Zee's mind soothed the moment he began sweeping. He liked to think he was talented in dissociating during his work. Or that his concentration was formidable, impressive almost. But the truth, the truth Zee knew but did not ever admit, was that he was simply simpleminded. If his concentration was focused on work, his mind did not drift. Nothing, a person or emotion or even project, could ever crack through this stubborn and simpleminded concentration of his. Well, nothing except his heart.
His novel used to be all he thought about. He used to catch himself thinking about the next time he could sit down to write. Or he would find himself tossing snacks into a shopping basket that he would not eat himself, but rather because he thought his fictional characters would like it. He would fall asleep with his head leaning on his laptop and wake up thinking about the next chapter. His work would be interrupted by the random spark of inspiration. And his nights out would be pleasant, if only he did not stop every ten minutes to take notes about how a drunken night would play out with his protagonist. How his protagonist would play. How his protagonist felt. How his protagonist was an extension of himself, but someone else completely. How he missed his protagonist. How he missed his story.
