YOUR WRINKLED, PATTERNED BLACK SKIRT topped with an almost skimpy light blue button-up shirt; your shoulder-length hair curled up with a brightly ornamented, porcelain ribbon hairpin; and those eyes glaring downwards while writing bits and bits of letters on a paper — as if painting a beautiful masterpiece.

Those things, those memories, they are enclosed in a melange of nonexistent lucid pictures like prints from Polaroids scattered, hanged on a thread. Clipped and treasured. Happy thoughts would scurry over and release a set of happy endings whenever I browse through them; it’s purely cosmic.

“Spade, this is Leah. She will be working with you all throughout the project proper.” said my boss.

Leah splashed a glittering smile, shining forthwith glorious glow, covering the entire cubicle where I was seated.

“Hi!” I said smiling back at her, unconsciously waving my right hand out of excessive emotion.

She was nearly attentive about everything what my boss said; she seemed to be submissive and respectful. I knew, then, that we would go along perfectly well.

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DAYS WENT BY and my predictions were right. Our fondness sparked the moment she greeted me on my 21st birthday, both online and personal. In fact, while everyone was bombarding me with birthday greetings on my wall and others surprised me hours before her greeting, I hurriedly thanked her before anyone else.

Sappy, I know.