I don't know why today had a different feel, maybe it's just the weather. I was walking down the street, heading towards the gift shop. What should I give my mother this time? Eyes focused on the pavement, I almost hit a sign post. I was grinning to myself, what an embarrassing moment that would've been if I hadn't stopped on time. I looked up to see the sky; I could really feel the warmth of the sun. I put my hand up to block the overflow of sunlight on my eyes. I smiled.
The lady in the counter recognized me and said hello. I've been loyal to the same florist since I first bought a flower for a... never mind that. She's always happy to see me, and she always knows what I need for every occasion. Last year, I bought a purple orchid and she gave me a perfect card to give my mother. It was by far my mother's favourite flower that I'd given her.
Now, the gift. I got to this place called "Happy Box" just across the street from the lady's flower shop. I was looking through the shelves of music box when the door chimed a melody. A girl with a vintage hat with a light blue dress came into the shop. I continued scanning over the shelves. My favourite song was playing inside the shop, "My Memory". This song was famous when the movie first came out, when I was young I couldn't stop repeating the song until my mother had told me to. She liked it when I play it on the piano though; it soothes her mind she said. I lightly pressed the keys of my imaginary piano, tracing my fingers through the shelves until I accidentally bumped into her. A music box fell from the shelf and I surprisingly caught it in time.
Time froze, her eyes were as gentle as the clouds floating in the sky. My heart beat faster than it was before and she smiled at me. I said sorry and went away.
I knew what that was; I just couldn't go through that path again. I walked out the store in a fast pace until I heard someone calling "Sir!" I didn't budge, and once more, "Sir!".
I halted and looked back and saw her standing there with my pen. I walked back. I could've just gone on without turning back if it weren't for that pen being a sentimental value of mine. She gave that to me on my birthday, a month before the incident happened.
Putting on a smile, I said thank you to her. I couldn't find any flaws to her appearance; bright hazel eyes, her hands were soft enough for me to slip the pen down to the ground. Everything went slow again. I picked up the pen and asked for her name. She said, "I will tell you the next time we meet," and just left me there standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.
Would there be a next time? Perhaps if, and only if, our stars would come to the same path again.
