Melbourne Weather.

A Fateful Encounter

A week had passed since I ruefully handed back the keys to my beautiful though modest city flat, and packed all of my worldly possessions into the back of a hired moving truck, and shuttled them back to my parents home. Outside, Tuesday afternoon was every bit as miserable as I felt gazing around the cluttered room around me. The walls were a shrine to the childhood I was blessed to have: lazy summers I'd never forget, holidays to the Great Ocean Road, camping, birthday parties, family, friends, you name it. Although, it was also a shrine to an adolescence I made a mental note to remove any and all evidence of before I let anybody come visit me. By the wardrobe my guitar case stood against the wall on top of a box of books, beside it three piles of clothes that had begun their blend into one. On the opposite end of the room, piles of boxes and bags I had yet to find a chance to sort through.

My white sundress with the yellow flowers draped over the back of the chair at my desk caught my eye, and I felt my stomach sink as I reached out and ran the soft cotton between my thumb and forefinger. Six weeks ago, I had thought that today I'd be on a plane to Fiji with my girlfriend celebrating our three year anniversary. As fate would have it though, six weeks ago she didn't think I'd find out about the fact that she was seeing someone else behind my back. Sometimes I wasn't sure what I was sad about; not going to Fiji, or her. It didn't feel like her anymore though.

A gentle knock at my door stirred me from my thoughts. "Are you almost –" my mother's head popped around the doorframe and her eyes flickered towards the dress in my hand. Sadness and sympathy spread across her age defying features and she reached a hand towards me, hesitating before gently stroking my arm "I was going to see if you were almost ready. Your dad wants to give you a ride to the station with the weather. If you want to talk, or if you don't feel like going though, it's okay." My parents were the kind of people who – without babying their children – never ceased to look after them. When I was younger it used to feel like the most horrible thing they could do, but as I got older I had come to appreciate how genuinely blessed I have been to know such an incredible and unconditional love.

I smiled at her, and let her know I'd be ready shortly, and she turned on her heel, leaving me with a mild sense of urgency. I already knew I was running late, but her interruption triggered that little voce in my head that reminded me it would take a lot longer to get to my violin lesson than it did the last time I went. A deep sigh rattled my chest as I panned my room in search of any matching pair of shoes I could find. "Socks I understand." I muttered to my cat, Sirloin, who lay on my bed half buried under a pile of throw blankets "But shoes?" He chirped at me, his eyes fixing me with a gaze that told me he was completely inconvenienced by any disturbances from his nap as he stretched and climbed to his feet. I stretched out my hand to pat him, but he recoiled and leapt off of my bed. He shot me one last irritated glare before he strutted out of my room and down the hall.

I've never really believed that cats think they're any better than people, but Sirloin absolutely does. In his defense though, we did name him Sirloin. I think if he knew the significance of that he'd kill us all, then die of shame before anybody had the gall to fault him on it.

I dropped to my knees and groaned when I realized the shoe I had decided I was looking for was underneath my bed in the far back corner beside the old shoebox of stuff I didn't have the heart to throw away. I'd have time later though to lament on the fact that three years could possibly fit into such a tiny box, for now there was none. I shimmied forward on my stomach, trying to push the idea that I might find myself stuck under the bed out of my mind. My phone vibrated in my front pocket, and the sudden buzzing took me so much by surprise that the back of my skull connected with the iron beam that ran down the length of the centre of my bed. I swore through gritted teeth and watched the stars dancing in my field of vision for a moment before liberating my shoe and sliding back into the light of the rest of my room.

An hour and a half later I was sitting in one of my favourite buildings in the city. A warehouse that at some point in it's life had been turned into a series of offices, studios, and small apartments, above aa niche café that sold truly obscure types of toast well into the night.

Behind me the reclaimed red-brown brick wall was adorned with a collage of pictures of notable local musicians. Next to it, stood the door that lead into the hallway that would carry you down a few flights of metal stairs and into the street below. To my left was a wall with floor to ceiling mirrors that were amazing during the day, but thanks to the large curved windows opposite it, would become blinding at sunset, so a large curtain hung on the wall beside them so they could be covered. Opposite me, beyond the chair I was resting my feet on, a smaller window sat above a radiator. This window overlooked another warehouse that had been turned into an independent cinema that screened either cult classics, or foreign movies with usually incorrect subtitles.

I heard his footsteps behind me and felt his arms wrap awkwardly around my neck in an attempt to hug me. "Welcome back to the land of the living." I could hear his smile in his voice. I had known my violin teacher, Aleks Belikov since I was six years old. His family moved from Russia when his father's company sent them over here. They had moved into the large rundown house beside ours. He was the same age as my older brother and despite the fact that Aleks didn't speak any English, they were pretty much immediately friends.

"I'm surprised the land of the living would have me." I joked, detangling myself from his arms and moving my head with his stride. He cleared his throat as he stared down at my feet still perched on the edge of his chair, and I begrudgingly withdrew them. His eyes locked with mine as he sat down, and I watched him consider me with a weird combination of what seemed like sadness and excitement.
"How-"
"Don't." I stopped him before he could ask me how I am. It's such an odd feeling to have everyone so much more concerned for you than you are sad. "I'm honestly fine." I tried to measure my tone in a way that made it clear that was the end of the conversation, but the momentary hurt on his face made me realise that I had maybe been a little too harsh. "I promise I'm okay. It hurt, but I'm really okay."

He pulled his phone from his pocket and started walking around the room as he rattled off the list of things he wanted to accomplish for our lesson. As he paced, I couldn't help but appreciate the way he presented himself. A lavender button up shirt with it's sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tucked into a pair of blue-grey slacks that were held in place by a tan belt that matched his shoes. He liked to keep the back and sides of his hair short, and his dark – almost black – wavy hair atop his head stayed in place in a messy but stylish modern pompadour. I have no idea how long I was staring at him before I realized that he was staring back with mild confusion.

I waved it off as nothing and tried to force every thought about him into the back of my mind. Especially hard considering the fact that I had to spend the next hour alone in a room with him. A room that had already almost been our undoing once. As though he could read my mind, he sighed and slid his phone back into his pocket, before locking his fingers behind his head and sitting back down. Suddenly, he looked very tired.