My Immortal Series - Serendipity

My Immortal Series Part II - Need Chapter Nine

But I will hold as long as you like

Just promise me we'll be alright

Mumford and Sons - Ghosts That We Knew

THE CONVERSATION

It has been a while since the two of them spoke, the comfortable silence entwined with the fading sunlight. They didn’t need words to fill the void.

Images of him with his magnificent wings spread out were beginning to play tricks on her mind as well as her senses. So caught up in her day dreaming, Aly didn’t realize that a smile had appeared on her face. She was abruptly brought out of her dreaming by a deep, soft voice.

‘I’m guessing it’s something to do with me.’

Her eyes flickered open and her first reaction was to deny his guess, but on hind sight realised that it mattered very little if he could actually read her mind. After all, it was his job to be in tuned with human’s feelings.

But she wasn’t pleased.

‘Don’t you dare read my mind!’

Angel or no angel, intrusion on her very personal space was not to be taken lightly - something he might not be aware of or maybe she was too much of an open book to him. Whatever it may be, she didn’t want to find out. It would only feed her insecurities if she knew he could actually read her mind. His handsome face looked crushed by her remarks and she felt ashamed that she had spoken out of turn. Her gaze softened as she spoke.

‘I was just thinking how you would look with your wings on.’

‘And...’ He eyed her with interest.

‘Impressive...’ Expecting a smug response from him, she found him withdrawn. When he said nothing, she pressed for an answer. ‘Why can’t I see them?’

 ‘In my human form, it’s not possibly for your eyes to decipher them but they are always with me, even now.’

‘Really?’ Aly replied, staring intently at the invisible wings that were supposedly above his shoulders or thereabout.

‘My shirts... they are always white – for the fact that anything lay on my back will turn white – the angelic matter in my wings prevents me from forgetting who I am, even in this place.’

 ‘Why?’ She asked, amazed at this little revelation.

‘My guess is as good as yours – there is no text book for me to refer to should I chance upon any dilemmas I may face in my human form. There were not meant to be any dilemmas – at least not ‘this’ for us,’ he sighed.

‘Here -’ He pulled at the hem of his shirt. ‘I want you to touch this.’

She had stranger requests before and this seemed a less than harmful request to fulfil. Gingerly she rubs the material against her fingers, wondering how she was going to break it to him that she was no expert when it came to men’s clothings.

The simple philosophy - If it fits, wear it.

From the outward appearance, it looked like any white cotton oxford shirt only probably tailored by some high end retailer. She was about to say some nonchalant comment when it touched her.

‘Whoa ... what was that?!’ She pulled her fingers away and glanced at him. The realization of knowing him was getting crazier and crazier by the minute.

‘Me.’

Oh Boy – here we go again.

If she didn’t touch his shirt again, she will have to live with his one syllabus answer for the rest of her life on earth. Taking a deep breath, she moved her fingers over his shirt again and this time she wondered how she could have missed it the first time round; the sensation that vibrated from the seemingly non-descriptive white cloth. Her fingers moved greedily over the expanse of his shirt. Only her eyes failed to reveal what she was touching.  It was the softest, silkiest, finest fabric her senses had ever known – and then she felt it moved – again.