by avrillorenzo

She stood outside his door, contemplating whether to knock or just leave. This isn’t a good idea, she thought. And of the minutes that she stood there, all of her memories of him flashed before her. She remembered how the hall of his apartment smelled of candle wax. He wasn’t one for using electricity at night. He likes the soft glow of candles. She found this weird trait of his dangerous, but he would always blow out the candles before they slept. The first time he held her hand was when she was trying to plug in her laptop one night because she was running out of battery. He stopped her because of his ‘I-don’t-use-electricity-at-night’ thing. She was too overwhelmed with the sensations brought about by one touch that she forgot that she had to send her paper that night. But it was worth it, she mused; that was when they first kissed: sitting on the floor, surrounded by candle light and the city noise masking the silence. She was looking at one of the paintings he had on his wall, the one that screamed autumn because of the crisp browns and oranges brushed across the canvas. She thought of autumn when she thinks of his lips. That was the last thing she thought of before he pressed his lips against hers for the first time. It was a clumsy kiss, considering that he leaned in the moment she turned towards him; he didn’t have his sights on the target but he barely missed. Barely, and then he moved his lips against hers, brushing them like how he brushed autumn into his canvas. She wondered if he still had it. She also remembered the cold nights. They wouldn’t need the heater because they had each other’s body heat. She could still feel how his arms would brush hers so faintly and how it would burn. And at nights like those, she would be lulled to sleep by the sound of his snores and heartbeat, mixed into an unorthodox melody that always made her smile before she slept. And often as not, he would always breathe against her hair. And in his exhale, she would always feel him say ‘I love you’ in the faintest of gestures. And she remembered how that fleeting moment before she succumbs to slumber told her that she was in love with him.

She blinked and looked at her hands with an envelope with 2 things inside. She knew what she had to do.


There was a knock on his door. A second later, he wouldn’t have heard it for he was about to go to sleep. Grumbling, he made his way to the door asking who it was. He looked through the peephole and saw that nobody was there. He cursed whoever it was and made his way back to his bed. But before he could fully turn around, he stepped on something. He bent down and picked up an envelope. He caught her scent on the measly stationary and immediately opened it, heart racing. Slowly pulling out the contents of the envelope, he fell to the floor. He looked around his apartment and his eyes landed on that one painting that she loved the most and immediately remembered her lips. The feeling of them against his were still there. He carefully opened the invitation and felt his world fall apart… The only thing that was going through his mind was whether or not he was to finally burn that painting.

It was her wedding invitation, dated exactly a week ago. He burned the invitation with one of the candles he had nearby and threw it in the bin. He held the other piece of paper found in the envelope, crumpled and stained.

You’ll always be the one, even though I’m not yours.”

And for the first time, he turned the lights and the heater on.