The Adventures of Lily Mirado

Chapter 5

The night was falling. As we walked to Dylan’s house, I looked up to see the full moon casting its white veil on the village of Landotia. It was so big that the one I used to see back at the orphanage that I was staring at it, its bright light almost hypnotising me. It wasn’t until Dylan called my name repetitively that I got out of my reverie. He shot me a confused look that I shrugged.

The houses in the village all looked alike, and Dylan’s house was no exception. The old-looking bricks that made up the walls, a red roof of the same material, glass-paned windows, and a wooden door were the ingredients that constructed the house. It was once that I stepped inside that I comprehended the full meaning to the saying ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’.

Because when I stepped inside, the room that I presumed was the living room, resembled a cosy and welcoming one, with a fireplace that overlooked the room, leather sofas and chairs, a rug that was so soft when you stepped on it, and a television, just above the fireplace. Yes, a freaking television existed in a time where I thought that the mobile phone was not even conceived. Unfortunately, I did not have those technological gadgets that when pressed, you could convey a message without even moving, that I saw the adults at the orphanage using. I was pretty sure that in my history books, you did not see these kinds of things in the Middle Age era, if we were even in the Middle Age era.

But then, I knew for a fact that Dylan was not like any other teenage boy. While he seemed to be like one, he just radiated this strange perception of familiarity. I was actually questioning if he really came from Landotia, because you couldn’t build something as sophisticated as the interior of this house, while camouflaging it outside with the environment.

My eyes followed him as he busied himself in the kitchen, state-of-the-art may I add. Again this weird sensation fell in my stomach as I stared at the kitchen, resembling any kitchen in my home land, but certainly not here.

“Are you done checking me out?” Dylan said, a smirk appearing on his face.

I frowned, not because of what he said (though, I was kind of annoyed), but because he had his back at me. I tilted my head.

“How can you know that? You can’t even see me.”

I thought that I saw his shoulders tensed up a bit, but he quickly relaxed and replied, without turning.

“Well, you know, I can feel the holes burning in my spine as you are probably wondering how the heck I got such a beautiful house.”

I gaped at him. How could he know what was I thinking? It was really strange but I shrugged. For now, I could almost feel the drool coming out of my mouth as I gazed at the food on the table. It was a simple, yet feisty spaghetti Bolognese. I quickly grabbed a plate and a fork and took a big portion. I heard him chuckle as I ate my spaghetti, closing my eyes to appreciate the flavour. There was a comfortable silence, with the occasional clash of cutlery on the plates. Frankly, I was quite grateful as I had time to formulate my questions.

After eating, I proposed to do the washing, which he reluctantly accepted, as he said, I quote: “A guest should not do any household work.” But then, I pointed out that he did the cooking, so it was normal for me to do the washing up.

I then plopped myself in the nice leather sofa, as Dylan took the chair on my right. His blue orbs bored into my brown ones. I cleared my throat and I started to play with my fingers, a sign I usually did when I was nervous or in an awkward situation.

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” I asked in a polite voice. It was his house after all; I couldn’t ask things without his permission.

He retreated back and made himself comfortable, and looked me straight in the eye. “Shoot.”

I looked down. I didn’t know why I was so nervous about this. The tension in the room was palpable and an air of seriousness settled.