Nirvana | j.hs

Prologue

It is just another one of those nights where she had to jump out of her windows to take a midnight stroll. Her parents are forbidding her once again to go out of the night. Such news about criminals lurking at twilight caused more damage to her favorite and probably the most interesting hobby she got in her entire life.

A simple stroll in the darkness.

She liked how nothing but the moon and stars covered the night sky—the indistinct music of silence at dawn. Rain and darkness's beauty when combined together, is utterly fascinating to her. The coldness at night which everyone described hallow is completely the opposite of her.

Of course, she's not much of a fool. She knows the threats of the evening sky to a young woman like her. That's why she always has her small and convenient bottle of pepper spray inside the pocket of her coat. Fortunately, she never got to use it. Nevertheless, she still continues to take extra precautions when she's out at night.

When she was fifteen, her parents enrolled her in a special class of Brazilian Jujitsu. The teacher knows her condition would take not just a special class for her as to why her parents had to pay more than the usual fee. To be honest, she never really knew why they wanted her to learn some martial arts. But at least now, she makes use of it.

Just as she is already a kilometer away from their house, she noticed a hooded figure walking towards her, or perhaps, will walk past her. It's not her style to switch lanes whenever such situations happen. It'll only cause the burglar a lot more attentive to their prey if she did.

Just as the stranger is only a few meters away from her, the figure stopped moving, but she keeps going. Not until "You!" it is a man's voice. She sees him pointing at something, and she looks around if the figure is pertaining to someone or something else. But no one other than the man and her is outside in the middle of the night at two in the morning.

Gently, she slides her hand inside her pocket and gradually slips out her pepper spray. She continues to walk straight, ignoring a few more shouts from the stranger.

Just another step and the man will be out of her sight. The moment she levels her place next to him, she notices that he reeks of alcohol in that brief moment. Firmly holding the pepper spray in her hands, she then takes a deep sigh of relief after walking past him.

She thought that it's just another drunk lunatic on the road that she has freely escaped, but she thought wrong.  A hand lands on her shoulder once she turns her back from the stranger and the first thing her instinct tells her is to beat the crap out of the guy.

In a swift moment, she turned and sprayed the content of the bottle on the stranger's face before quickly twisting his arm, which is hanging from her shoulder. The man let out a loud groan, but that doesn't stop her to made contact with the stranger's groin.

He dropped to his knees and wailed in agony. She breaks contact with the unknown person and plans to walk away immediately when she hears him sniff. Is he crying? She thought.

Without much thinking, she turns around to look at the man one last time only to see him weeping so hard. Did she perhaps overdo it?

She's deciding whether to help him out or just leave him. At a second glance, he doesn't look threatening at all, if it weren't for those black tattoos that are covering his neck. She takes another look at the man's delicate neck and notices how her name is written there.

She knows that it is a plain coincidence, but she believes that no bad guy would want to have an enormous tattoo of the word 'Hope' on their necks.

The guy continues to sniff, and this time she makes up her mind to at least, help him stand. She sits down and is about to lend his hand when the guy begins to speak. "Why?" he looks at her with watery eyes. "Why am I given this kind of life?"

As opposed to what he believes, neither she knows the answer to his question. "Please, just stand," she grimaces, before pulling his arm to help him stand on his own. Taking a mental note that she should identify a burglar from a vulnerable drunkard next time, she smiles a little at the man once he's on his feet. She observes how his stance is unstable, which is probably because of her doings earlier.

They put up a couple of seconds without doing anything aside from staring at each other until, "I think I know you," the guy said.

His statement got her creasing her foreheads but eventually, she laughs at it. "Really?" she asks in disbelief. This is the first time she encounters this guy.

"I saw you before."

"Where?"

For a minute there, she wants to stop entertaining this stranger's delusions. And her inner self is right when the man answers, "In my dreams."

Her face falls and has finally run out of any sign of remorse for what she did to him earlier. She could tell that he's kidding. That smirk on his face says so. "Have a good night then mister," she turns her heels.

"Wait!" A hand grips on her wrist, and for the first time, she senses something else instead of danger from his touch.

"Stop touching me, or I swear I'll be the one to put you on sleep," she threatens. Turning her head to the now appalled man, she glares at him. The hand remains on her wrist, and the guy seems like he has no intentions of moving it away. Right there, she starts to count.

"One..." She's waiting for him to give her space.

"Two."

"Thr— Oh, god!" The smell of vomit taints the fresh breeze of wind passing by. The stranger laughed at him as if he planned to throw up on her on purpose.

She can't go back now, not when she still doesn't have a sense of satisfaction from her stroll. It's like her therapy to help her sleep in the morning. "I'm sorry," he smiles, "It's my fault... It has always been my fault."

The last part of his statement intrigued her, and she's guessing that his apology isn't meant for her.