Tearing Paper

Island Dreams (Epilogue)

"Xavier! Remind Jenner and Danielle-everything must be on my desk at 5 p.m. today!" Nate shouted through the supposedly sound-proof window of Xavier's office. Xavier lifted his face from the papers he was working on and laughed, giving Nate a thumb-up.

Nate ran to his own office, wiping his sweat and smiling in relief as he saw the works he wanted already neatly stacked on his desk.

After getting his big break in writing about Namiri Island, and helping the Marion Press gain much more fame with the publication of Dianne's poem book, Nate found his career escalating more than he was ready for. In two years, he was trusted to direct a new travel tabloid under Nova, with Xavier still being his favorite colleague and ever-present source of help.

Namiri Island was beautiful, but he had gotten the chance to explore vaster, wilder realms, oceans and continents apart.

Not one of them was able to drive Dianne out of his mind.

He kept their promise-he did not try to contact her although he was dying to know how she was doing. Journalism kept him busy, he did not mind taking overtimes just so his mind would never be empty enough to let the memories from Dianne crawl back to the surface. Perhaps his crazy decision was what made him very much successful right now.

He tried to find Lucio and offer him a job, but he, too, was nowhere to be found.

Many of the townsmen had their own speculations about him, but he never believed any of them.

Ella, who grew closer to Lucio ever since they met, refused to talk about his disappearance either. She seemed to be occupied enough with the fashion design degree she was pursuing.

Maybe Nate was just glad life was seemingly going on in such a calm course.

-

"Finally," Nate exhaled after sipping his favorite Earl Grey from the pantry. He walked back into his office upstairs with his mug, without noticing his surroundings.

"I'm so sorry," Nate gasped as he almost bumped into a girl much shorter than him. Her blonde hair was tied into a messy bun, and she was carrying what looked like a bundle of drafts for a book or novel.

"It's fine. I was just about to drop these and leave," the girl replied quickly, excusing herself to leave the corridor.

Beautiful.

He did not need to take a closer look or a longer lapse-he knew very well the contours of her face, and the way her hair would recklessly run down her ears.

"Hey-" Nate called out, but she had took a quick turn to the left, towards the exit door.

"What's wrong, Nate? I think she just came by to drop a novel proposal," a woman told Nate, who barely listened to her.

"Hold this for me? I gotta go," Nate practically slammed the half-filled mug towards the woman, and ran as fast as he could.

He knew where to go.

He knew where he would find her.

She would probably be in that little café near his office, sitting in the corner with a glass of her favorite vanilla latte, an old writing book on her lap.

She would spend the whole evening busy writing, writing, writing.

And if he waited long enough, he would probably see her endlessly tearing paper.