His Little Heir

Okay?

      Daya brushed her hair, haphazardly counting how long it took to go from the top of her head to the bottom, and wrinkled her nose at the results.

     Nine seconds.

     It wasn't anything to laugh at really. She could recall times her mother's hair had been almost twice as long, or at least it seemed that way to Daya's younger eyes, but still. Her hair had become less of a feature and more of a nuisance over the past year, and every morning without fail she would remember the ever ready scissors lodged in the vanity drawer.

     Daya gingerly thumbed through the compartment until she found the set of blades. Her fingers entrusted themselves to their familiar grip- the thin, pink rubber at the ends- and it wasn't until her eyes met her reflection that she was able to pull herself away.

     What was she doing? The interview was tomorrow!

     Daya couldn't help but laugh at herself and imagine the dreadful trim she'd sport. The media would go mad at the sight of her, there was no doubting that, but given the chance, what would she do to her hair anyway?

     Layers? Bangs? A shoulder cut?

     She hadn't given it much thought. Not that it mattered, of course, there were much greater things to be attended to. But again, her mind wondered to the scissors.

     She shook her head: not today.

     Daya pulled an elastic tight just above her neck. She clenched her teeth as her hair struggled to fall through the ever shrinking loop, but nevertheless, she persisted.

     Good enough.

     She took one last look at herself before leaving. For a sunday, her outfit boasted of more effort than usual. A quarter sleeve button up and a pair of dark, ironed jeans would be enough to keep her warm in the early morning as long as the forecast was correct. Yet, Daya begrudgingly recalled the track record of Fashad's meteorologists, slung a brown cardigan over her shoulder, and took a deep breath.

    Glancing at the clock by her bedside, Daya let out a small shriek. She was fifteen minutes late.

     She plunged her laptop and a small notepad into their drawstring bag and descended the stairs without a second look, Leon's text sitting idly where she had read it.

     "Meet me at the gazebo at eight."

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     Daya sprinted down the isles of newly planted buds, gliding almost on her tip toes as not to disturb them. She'd been this way with Quill before near nights ago, but with the dirt overturned and saplings planted for the incoming season, she quickly lost her way. She shouldn't miss the gazebo. At least, that's what she told herself as she glided down the same isle of fresh pansies for the fifth time.

     Daya chewed the inside of her cheeks. Now, she was even later. Leon probably figured she wasn't coming and left, or at the least, finished his breakfast alone since he had more than enough time.

     Why'd she have to mess this up? Why didn't she just watch the clock, or set an alarm or-

     Daya slammed into what felt like a wall. She spiraled into a column of fresh bulbs, crushing the newly laid hill. She made an effort to recover, but before she could, familiar arms slid underneath her.

     Leon pulled her to his chest, "Daya! Are you hurt? I-I didn't see you and you were coming so fast and I-"

     "I'm... okay. I think." She paused to regain her breath, "Those bulbs aren't though."