"𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐃
𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔
𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍
𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄"
{ in which an outsider searches for a place to belong and finds it in the place he least expects }
• • • • • • • • • •
Started: Wednesday 25th April 2...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A week had passed and I still felt alive with the joy the gala had brought me.
Even when I went shopping the following Saturday, which I usually found a tedious task.
It was nearing midday when I was strolling around the aisles, a basket looped around my arm. I never enjoyed wandering the sections with the fridges and freezers as my legs always turned cold.
Serves me right for constantly wearing dresses.
As I entered the aisle where all the canned food was, I saw Alfred Rogers- a lovely elderly gentleman with silver hair, who wore a tweed flat cap and a determined expression on his face. He was trying his hardest to reach for a can of vegetable soup (which I knew he was partial to) from the top shelf.
"Are you alright there, Mr Rogers?" I asked as I approached him.
He turned to me, relief washing over him as he sighed.
"Katelyn, dear, could you do me a favour and grab one of those cans from the top shelf?" He asked. "I don't mean to be a bother. It's just that I simply can't reach with my crippling bones."
I smiled. "Of course, Mr Rogers. It's not a bother at all."
I stood on my tip toes, reaching high for the can of soup. My fingers grazed it, but I couldn't get a proper grip. I struggled for a moment, sticking out my tongue in perseverance and almost dropped my basket as I focused hard on trying to get the can.
"I can just go and ask someone if you can't reach, dear," Mr Rogers said after a long moment.
"No, no," I insisted. "It's alright. I've almost got it."
Embarrassingly, I was wrong. I just didn't want to make more of a fool out of myself; I was determined to get that damn can of soup even if it meant pulling a muscle.
However, after several long and gruelling seconds, just as I was about to give up and go and ask for the shop assistant, another hand came into view.
A familiarly pale hand that belonged to Maplebrook's resident writer and musician.
Surprised, I turned my head to see Edgar effortlessly take the can from the shelf and hand it to me with a soft smile. He had a basket in his other hand, filled with all sorts of different groceries, and was wearing what I presumed were his reading glasses.
He looked strangely different with glasses, but they suited him very well.
And he was still as handsome as ever.
"Thank you," I said, smiling back, admiring his smart midnight-blue shirt for a long moment.
"Th-That's q-quite alright. H-Happy to help."
"Oh, thank you, stranger," Mr Rogers uttered gratefully as he took the can from my hand. "You know, when I was your age I was about your height. This is what age does to you- you shrink!"
