10 Chapter Ten

Myra's POV

When Tolstoy said, "The two most powerful warriors are patience and time," I decided to pilot-study his appellation utterly closely.

But, here's the downcast reality of being warriors: Time tumbles out of your hand like red sand you twirl between your fingers at the Red desert when you're on your honeymoon in Egypt, clicking hashtag couple-goal photos because Greece is too clichéd. It does not wait, and with great deplore, I announce that it, also, does not immobilize. Instead, it trips, balances out, and more often than not boils your entire life into an existential crisis.

Like the one I'm having…

Right now.

Dahlia looks incessantly happy playing with her dolls, borrowing some cutlery from her mother's kitchen. Borrowing? More like stealing, But I am sure Mary doesn't mind. I sit opposite her on the farthest table the overlooks the street.

Analogously, time didn't paralyze me. I killed time. Did I save time? I think I got robbed and got robbed of time. I lost time, and I also have all the time in the world. Quite an infinitely little paradox?

The sun is so bright that you cannot escape the heat despite being inside the bakery. Today's way too bright for anyone's liking. I look up from outside of the window and can barely manage to keep my eyes open — it's near impossible.

I settle my bag at the edge of the chair and take a deep breath. Camp Noelle is in 12 days, and I haven't fully decided on what to do with it yet. I mean, I know that I told Kevin that I'm game enough for it, but that was a moment of weakness. I don't know for sure if I'm game enough for anything as of now.

I take out the prospect once again and go through the contents of it once again. No doubt, the place looks serene and is almost otherworldly, but I know better than to be fazed by beauty. So I reread it, and again, and once more till I am contemplating un-living myself.

It's such a simple decision, and yet I really cannot see to make my mind about it.

Such a simple decision.

Nothing worth possessing ever came in easy. That being said, it need not necessarily mean that you must struggle for every piece of happiness that comes your way. Or you must move mountains for an ounce of momentary comfort. Should you? Is a moment's happiness worth a million painful seconds of the chase?

Dear Lord, give me just one sign. Just one! That is all I ask for.

"You really shouldn't think so much about it; sometimes, it's better to jump in the pool without testing the waters," I quickly look up to see the man who's interrupted my train of thoughts. And I instantly regret looking up. Pretty people scare me, so. I am almost instantly intimidated by them.

Dear Lord, when I asked you for a sign, I didn't mean to literally just give me an answer. What the hell? Had I known that my prayers were going to be answered this quickly, I'd have asked for something better — like, eh, around the world flight ticket or a house in Mykonos — just about anything but this man with green eyes who's standing in front of me in all his confidence and glory. He instantly makes me feel so small.

I envy people the most for their confidence, for I lack even a single bit of it.

Before I could respond to his suggestion, he makes his way to the chair next to me and causally makes himself comfortable as if we've known each other for years?

Uh, hello? We don't.

But maybe this is how it probably is. This is how humans probably work. This is probably how people make friends. They just come and occupy the seat next to each other and start talking about all there is to life. It seems kind of odd to me, but what do I know?

"So, are you going to… this camp?" He looks at the prospect in my hand that I do very weak at hiding. In fact, he reaches his hand out to grab it from me and goes over the contents himself. "Well, this isn't bad at all. I really think you should go. It's just a matter of two weeks. You'll have fun," he suggests nonchalantly, making this sound like the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it is, but for me? I don't think so.

I take a moment to examine him. His green eyes look sore. He's casually clad in summer clothes. But what I am in awe of is the dimples on his cheeks. Man here doesn't even need to smile fir his dimples to pop. He need only move his mouth, and you will be blessed with such sightly beauty. He's holding a cup of coffee in his hand, which he's casually sipping on while still going through every detail of the camp prospect.

Never in my life have I ever met someone who displays such time to a stranger that they feel the need to carefully examine verbatim a 4-page catalog.

"Uh, I guess… maybe I will. Thanks. Do you know me?" Before I could process, the words slipped out my mouth like a bullet of a gun — the one that you cannot rescind. And yes, this is embarrassing to even listen to.

To my utter disbelief, he laughs at me. He whole-heartedly laughs at me.

Oh, God!

This is turning out to be more embarrassing than I'd hoped for. But it isn't my fault that a stranger decided to come and sit next to me while I was swamped having a tea party with my friend, Dahlia, here.

I shouldn't be the one to be embarrassed. It should be him.

Sometimes, I wonder, if I color my hair blonde, will I be able to collect disability paychecks to pay for my crippling coffee addiction?