Spell

"It's your choice, because it's your words."

-Serised

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Ken savors the view, looking around with gleam in his eyes. The setting sun gives off orange hue, pleasantly warming the whole place. He is sitting with Shiela on a bench, keeping their own personal space.

When Ken turns sidewards, Shiela's gentle smile made his even bigger.

"This is the most memorable day of my life," Shiela speaks looking afar, then turning her head towards Ken, whose stare was fixed since then.

Shiela's gold shaded eyes reflect Ken. His disbelief showing on his face as he grasp what Shiela uttered.

It seems like a spell, casted to paralyzed him.

Shiela shifts his attention to her shoulder bag and took out a pink-colored set of sticky note. She writes something down and when finished, separated it from the set and offered to Ken, wearing a smile that shows her words.

Ken takes the note from her hand and looked at it. But his eyes widens, smile slowly fades away, because all that's there is space; nothing's written on it.

When he lifts his head to look at Shiela again, she's not there too. She disappeared.

Suddenly, everything collapsed. A crack opens to the ground, absorbing the beautiful landscape, the bench, and Ken downwards.

The blank sticky note escapes Ken's hand when a vacuum-like wind pass by from beneath Ken, he tries to reach it, extends his arm more, tips it with his fingers, until he finally grasp it in his hand once more. But the pressure from the hole grow stronger, pulling him down. The wind violently tosses him around, he fell face front, bringing him back to reality.

Ken opens his eyes achingly to find himself on his bedroom floor. Breathing heavily as if he just came from an intense jog.

He stands up lazily, stretches his painful joints, and spotted a pink paper glued on his workspace table.

"I mean it," Ken reads it aloud to remind himself of what Shiela gave him after saying her 'spell'

"Yesterday, it does feel like a dream," Ken says tracing down the sticky note.

"because it was out of nowhere, but it doesn't mean I don't like it," Ken adds.

He went to his bed to get his phone under the pillow, and saw the read text message from the unknown number yesterday.

He dials Dia's number and waited as it rings.

"What did you eat?" Dia's first words from the other side of the line.

"Huh? I haven't eaten anything. I just woke up," Ken answers seriously.

"Why do you ask?" Ken adds, missing the point.

"Pffft," Dia breaks off into a sweet laughter.

"I asked because you called me first, and it's just nine in the morning, you just did something you haven't been doing for a long time just like yesterday!" Dia explains in one breath, with evident cheerfulness.

"Oh, right." Ken agrees.

"So, what's the matter?" Dia says after finishing her last laugh.

"Well, grandfather...he texted me," Ken says hesitantly.

Dia went quiet from the other line.

"He said, I should come on tonight's family dinner," Ken details.

"I think I need to come, since he texted me after a long time," Ken continues losing voice in every word.

"What if they make fun of you?" Dia replies, concern evident with her audible deep breaths.

"They wouldn't, for sure he called me because it was for business," Ken rationalizes.

"Then call me if you ever need me, okay?" Dia reminds Ken.

"hmm...you're on speed dial," Ken replies with drooping eyes.

They ended the call trying to be brave, as if one is going to war and one will back up if the enemy's too strong.

The family dinner fills Ken's head everywhere he goes. He ordered breakfast, he sat down on his workspace, he went for a walk, he took a bath, he sat down in daze, he cleaned his house, until he got tired.

He sits in front of his computer again, staring at the plain white canvas. His mind flies back to one year ago.

*smaaack!*

The shocking sensation made the hit painless, until a pang starts accumulating on Ken's right chick.

Ken turns his head to see the furious and pained expression of the very man he wants to please.

"Grandpa..." Ken weakly opens his mouth, hand on his chick.

"I'll show you, artists can be called 'successful' too, " Ken says with a broken voice.

Ken went back to the present when the pink note catches his sight.

"I do mean it too, when I said that artists can be successful. But.." Ken mumbles, stopping from speaking his mind, keeping his thoughts to himself.

The time ticked fast. Ken glances at the clock and it reads five in the afternoon. He dillydally his preparation to go, pushing and pulling his desire to show up.

An hour passed by, Ken chose to wear his go-to business-casual clothes. Plain black sweater matched with gray blazer suit and chinos.

After some time, a polite knock from Ken's door takes his attention away, wearing his brown leather shoes to the last foot.

He straightens his blazers and gave the mirror a last look then went to the door. As he opens it, he saw a guy in black suit, bowing his head slightly and politely pointing a car for Ken to ride.

Ken strides to approach the car's backseat. The guy in suit settles himself on the steering wheel and quietly started driving.

"Excuse me," Ken starts speaking, looking at the rearview mirror.

The driver's eyes perk up to the mirror and says, "Yes, sir?" glancing back and forth in front and to meet his boss' eyes.

"Do you have anything to tell me that grandfather asked you to pass on?" Ken asks slowly, choosing his words carefully.

The driver slightly flinch at Ken's question.

"I'm afraid the chairman didn't asked me to pass on anything, Sir," the driver says, as polite as possible.

Ken releases an air mixed of relief and disappointment.

The rest of the travel went fast. Ken arrives at the house he used to call home. He glances over the water fountain he used to throw coins to, and turns his head to the garden which he used to draw in hidden, now looks plainly elegant.

He takes a long look of the mansion in front, recalling its mixed sophisticated and contemporary details with glowing entrance.

Ken straightens his blazer suit for the last time, asking courage from it with a tight grip. He enters with a brave first step and saw the busy first floor. The family's business partners comfortably sitting on respective tables, some are loud, some are too serious.

"Sir Ken, your family's table is over there," a familiar maid approaches Ken and lead the way.

"Hmm...thank you, Claire," Ken quickly response, his mind still lurking on his awkward feeling inside.

Claire gives a polite smile to Ken in return.

When Ken reaches their table, everyone occupies every seat except two chairs. They're already chatting and clinking sounds of their utensils filled the space they are in.

"Ken!" a middle-aged lady breaks Ken's quiet arrival.

"Mom," Ken recognizes her mom with a little boy's smile. His mother runs towards him, giving a tight hug.

"Why did you grow too skinny?" the mom breaks off the hug and touches Ken's two chicks feeling its content.

Ken giggles and takes away his mother's two hands.

"Mom, I have been..er..working out," Ken lies.

"Come here, let's stuff that sagged face with some food," the mother comically says, pulling Ken in his hand towards a vacant seat.

Ken feels the sharp looks directed to him, keeping him from returning the eye-contact, making his smile stiff.

"Hey, son," Ken's father greets as he sits down beside him.

"Hi, dad," Ken replies, masking his uneasiness with a smile.

"How have you been brother?" Ken's older brother interrupts wearing a smug face. Ken looks back, thinking of what to say.

"I've...been doing good, King," He replies with a cold stare.

The tension between the two brothers resurfaced, slowly uncovering the past wound's bandage.