Stories of Love

An Address and A Number

Ring ring ri--

Click.

That call just now was the fourth time today. The fourth that went dead before he could say a thing. The other line was too stubborn to not pick up unknown number at any cost, even though he was calling for something important.

He knew his concious wouldn't let him give up to take this forgotten book back to its owner no matter how inconvenience she was being, so he kept trying. But damn that woman was too stubborn. She even picked it up once and immediately cut the call before he could finished saying hello.

He was just trying to help. And be nice at the same time. But she really gave him a hard time.

Peeking inside the book to look for this home number had been against his concious too, so now that she downright refused to have anything to do with a stranger like him even if he had the book had made his patience grow thin. He was the good guy here. He wasn't some sort of creepy stalker calling her home number just to hear her voice from the telephone. No, he wasn't. He didn't even remember what she looked like because he was only seeing her back at the park then.

He was just having his usual jog circling the park, and just unintentionally watching her sitting on one of the bench alone with her book. No, that was not stalking. He was just wondering why she was still sitting there alone after he saw her for the fourth time during his fourth lap.

And he was surprised back then at the tenth lap, because then there was only the book sitting there on the bench, blended as a wooden part of the bench. No sign of the owner nor any sign for anyone else realizing the forgotten book. So he picked it up.

Turned out that on the first page he got the owner's name and her home number. And so he began to call.

But got rejected way too many times. He never got why women had such negative thinking. Afterall she didn't even knew it was him calling, just that it's an unknown number. It could be another woman calling, or even her own mom with a new number, so he didn't get why she never picked up and listened for once.

Then again, she had. And his deep and hard voice of his half-said "hello" would be more than enough to convince her to put him in the creepy stalker category.

He sighed. Now what should he do?

"Stubborn woman," he muttered, after the call he made got rejected again.

Perhaps he should brought the book back in front of her doorstep and slammed it to her face.

No, of course not. That would be rude, and creepy. Nobody just came and shoved book to other's face because their calls were ignored.

But the bringing the book back to her house part was do-able. He could do just that. Except he had no idea where she lived.

He eyed the book with sudden distress. He contemplated again. Should he look inside the book again to search her address? Or what else could he do without interfering other's privacy anymore than he had? Shouldn't he?

"Ah screw it," he muttered, irritated by himself, and readied himself to look through the book. Her book.

He shouldn't think of the freaking owner if he wanted to have a clear head.

......

He couldn't believe what he just did.

He eyed the book in his hand. He came all the way here, getting an address from looking and tracking for hours just from the mere home phone number, just to bring back a book. A book currently just filled with random scribbles and raw draws that he himself didn't understand.