Strongwill Shorties

Overmorrow (iv)

If I don't make it through this war, know that I've loved you for a thousand lifetimes- and if fate be cruel to us in this time and separate us I will find you in another- an overmorrow.

"What's an overmorrow?" she asks. Despite the sass she's showered me in, she falls into a soft tone; her voice almost drowns in the cacophonous chatters of the people in the small café.

"Overmorrow means the day after tomorrow."

"So anong kunek?"

"Well, my novel follows this two soul-mates who kept on meeting and falling with each other in their lifetimes, but never quite ending up together. They finally almost do in the last chapter, though I'm not sure if I should let them..." I sneer out of nervousness. I've never told anyone the summary of my novel; and it sounds ridiculous saying out loud.

"I think I've heard that story before...."

"Really?"

"Cliché e," she smirks as her eyelids grow heavy.

"All stories are cliché. Love stories are no exception."

She coldly stares outside, hands on the shoulder bag on her lap, chin up and nostrils flaring as if she's sniffing the air. She's wearing a mustard uniform (which I suppose was of a vocational school) and probably should be on her way to a class; but I don't ask her lest she be reminded. In the few minutes we've known of each other's existence she's already been a company to me more than my own family. I like her- this cheeky stranger with bewitching smirks, and uncharitable frowns, and fluttering eyelids; her oily hair in a messy bun, and thin frame, and hallowed eyes; the long birthmark on her neck making her look as if she's just been asphyxiated.

"Na-in love ka na ba?" she asks as she brings back her gaze towards me.

"I'm in love with writing."

"With a person. With a girl."

"This is crazy, but I think I always fall in love with my female characters-"

"God, ang annoying mo sa totoo lang." She says it rather contemptuously but at once fondly, tucking away stray strands of hair behind her left ear. I wish I can do that for her.

"I'm not sure," I answer. "Why?"

"Wow. Romance writer hindi alam kung na-in love na. Ano bang inspiration mo?"

"For this particular novel? Dreams."

At the mention of dreams we stare at each other for what seems like a thousand years. She's the first to look away. Cheeks and nose tinted pink. It's cute.

"Dreams I've had for years," I continue. "Dreams that almost feel like memories."

"Ako rin," she whispers. "Hindi pa naman ako nai-in love pero... pero siguro parang dati... I mean sa past ba tulad ng sabi mo. Gosh. Walang sense sinasabi ko..." She silently chuckles, her lashes flutter in a way I can only describe as dreamily.

"Hey, um..." I close my laptop and clear my throat. "Since you've heard my novel's first line, would you perhaps like to have some lunch? My treat."

"I don't take offers from strangers. Sorry." She frowns, stands up, and slings her bag over her shoulder.

"How am I not to become one?"

"Ewan." Once again she briefly smirks.

"From my standpoint I sense some kind of unconscious vow not to entertain any romantic procurement." I stood up, too. I'm a little taller than she.

"Hindi naman," she says, then pauses before.

If her gaze were a dagger, I'd gladly die of being stabbed.

"Sige. Sa'n tayo?" she prompts.

"Wherever you want. I'll go wherever you go." I reach over to hold her hands, and she doesn't push me away. Instead she smiles, and that moon-crescent grin of hers brings back the dreams- the memories- the genesis of love that started with our ultimate ancestors Adam and Eve. This is the time Fate has appropriated for us; and I can confidently say the wait was over and worth it.

"If I lost you along the way, I'll find you, Blanche. That was a promise..."

She looks away but I can glimpse tears in her eyes.

"Salamat sa pag-keep ng promise na 'yon," she whispers, "James."