"I'm suffering from scopophobia," I said.

"What!" It wasn't a question, but merely a statement. Maybe more so to himself than to me.

Eric's face fell faster than a loaf removed from the oven too soon. A sigh. It was a sigh so quiet that it went almost unnoticed. The sigh was resigned but it signaled not the end of his resolve leaving but of the level his tension had reached. His eyes spoke of the end of a deliberate effort and the beginning of passive deterioration. It was not the start of any butterfly effect. But in Eric's life it was a pivotal turning point. It was the moment disappointment veiled his being. At that moment, for just a split second, I saw a little boy. A very lonely sad boy caught in the vortex called life. Crying for help, wanting someone to notice him. He evoked something in me and I had this sudden mama bear urge to hold him in my arms and cradle him to sweet sleep. But he was gone before I could even blink and was replaced with a boy filled with secrets and vexation.

I could feel the frustration building, and under its weight I though he was about to explode. It looked like he wanted to vent, let it out, to shout, have a tantrum and beat his hands on the ground like a toddler. But instead, he took a deep breath in as if to calm himself down, although his body still held some tension. This was my chance.

"I...I am sorry." I quickly muttered as I shoved past him and out of the dark janitor's room.

We were forbidden to run in the hallways. Something about elegance of being a Veronan, but I could care less at the moment. As I ran through the hallways, trying to get away from all that hurt my mind screamed at me, I hated it. I hated it all. I didn't want to show him all my bitterness and weakness which grew like a tumour with each passing year, pushing on the side of me that was serene, slowly enveloping me in toxic darkness. Pain flowed out of my every pore and I was bawling my eyes out as if my brain was being shredded from the inside. Opening up old wounds was not an easy task.

I ran and ran, until I couldn't run anymore. And when I finally did stop, I found myself outside in the backyard school garden; in front of a iron gate a few feet taller than me. It looked like it was forged centuries ago, about the same time as the school was built. Made out of twisted black rods at the end of which some were curled in convoluted patterns and an emblem of a Phoenix was embedded amidst it all. Vines of ivy and blue roses cascaded over it, creeping and swaying up through the rods; growing tendrils in every direction making the gate look like something out of a fairy tale. I had seen pictures of such gates in story books, artistic and pretty.

I stared at the pretty roses in awe, reminding me of an old story my grandma once told me. She said that blue roses did not really existed. Yet it had been an ultimate desire of humans for centuries to find and posses one. Perhaps because it is human nature to wish to have the unattainable. As such, there was once a beautiful enchantress who had the hearts of many, but none had hers. For one single cause; she was cursed to never attain love. She couldn't love. Many suitors came for her hand but she turned all of them away with these words, 'If you want to obtain my heart you shall have to bring me a blue rose.' It was such an impossible feat that the suitors went away shaking their heads in dismay, for no one could find a Blue rose. Whereas somewhere far away, there lived a vain earl who had a fad of collecting the most beautiful objects he could find. When he heard of the enchantress's unearthly beauty, he was intrigued. Hence he made his way to the enchantress's palace to claim her. He heard the same words as the other suitors from her, when he approached her. But he was not discouraged like the others. He promised the enchantress to bring her a blue rose but in return she had to spent time with him every other day as he wished to admire her beauty and bask in it. The enchantress agreed and they started seeing each other often. As time passed, the earl became obsessed with the enchantress but still he couldn't find a blue rose to ask her hand in marriage. So one day in desperation, he set off in a journey around the world to look for the unattainable rose. He traveled for many years, searching high and low for the blue rose. But it was to no avail. So in the end, dejected as he was, he returned to the enchantress to tell her there was no such thing as a blue rose. But when he returned he found the enchantress lying in her death bed, taking her last remaining breaths. The curse was eating her life force away and only a blue rose could have ever broken the curse. But alas! It was too late and before the distressed earl, the enchantress passed away. At that moment, for the very first time, tears flowed from the earl's eyes. Tears of love. And when those tears touched the ground, from within a blush of blue rose sprouted into bloom. For what the enchantress was looking for was not admiration but love. It was a very sad tale and I cried every time I heard it but it was also a beautiful one.

While I was reminiscing in my melancholies the gate suddenly swung open with a creak as if it were mounted on hinges. The air was perfumed with heavy scent of flowers as I walked forwards to take a closer look in. Within, was another garden, bejewelled with bountiful nature. This garden was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. As if a glimpse of the garden of Eden laid before me. Countless flowers of every shade, each one was a delicate bloom. Their petals were a beautiful work of art and their hue were the most exquisite to the eyes.

The leaves and little petals of flowers scudded over the ground and took small flights into the air as a wind blew with fierce rustling. The wind hit my face and took fronds of my hair too and made them into lashes that beat my face and blew above my head. The branches swayed like the arms of a soccer crowd and in the seam of all of nature's chaotic dance I saw a boy standing amidst the flowers, looking hypnotic.

He was beautiful. Those were the only words that echoed in my head. The boy was perfection in coffee hues; his hair was the colour of dark roasted beans but his skin was all latte. He had that shy look about him teens often get when they've grown too much too fast, like they aren't really sure about being a man just yet. He was skinny, but the way his clothes hung gave away the muscle beneath; and his chiseled jaws gave away his stunning appearance. His eyes, the first couple moments, I labeled them "grey." Or to be particularly poetic, I'd call them "silver." Neither word did them justice. They were so solid, so bright, the exact lustrous color of a polished shard of metal, the grey of the ocean an instant before dawn's first rays strike the water. If you looked closer, you'd see the swirls of glittering onyx black and tinges of blue at the edges. They weren't monochrome or boring. They were mesmerising. Those eyes glanced my way once, and ensnared me from that moment in a net of intrigue.

My legs unconsciously took me to him while I held his eyes and as I got closer he became more and more alluring. But I also realized that a death date didn't loomed over this person either.

He kept staring back at me in reverence as he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible, "Chelsea!"

"...ehh!" I couldn't help but wear a puzzled expression, for the name he addressed me by was none other than my mother's.

TO BE CONTINUED...