Date Me, Mr. Archer

two | her interview

My dad had always told me, "Rain is just a confetti from the sky. Let it congratulate you for everything you went through during your hard times."

So, I had always loved rains growing up. They made me feel at peace for a moment and it made me appreciate every single thing I'd worked hard for and achieved. Walking in rains was one of my most favourite habits I'd grown to love since when my grandfather would take me for long walks at the beach and everytime it rained, he'd buy me Ramen noodles and we'd eat those and chat for hours.

So, most of the time when he took me to the beach, half the time I was praying it'd rain. And then it had rained, that one evening, it had rained so hard that I was only fourteen and granddad had seated me at a table and gone to take my noodles but never came back.

They had said he slipped and fell into a manhole. I remembered crying for hours and hours, sitting on my knees, waiting for the cops to tell me it was a prank, for my parents to stop crying, for the others to dig into the manhole and pry my grandfather's body and when the body had come out, I had begged him to wake up until I had lost consciousness.

So when I saw her, sitting — fallen — on her knees somehow, blinking up at me innocently and intrigued, it triggered memories from that evening it shouldn't have and I stumbled a step.

She straightened instantly and I wondered is she'd seen the terror flash in and out of my eyes because then she was getting on her feet again, her eyes widened as she rubbed her palms against her jeans. "G-good morning, Mr. Archer," she said quickly and walked a few steps away from me.

Sirens of the cop cars, police talking and investigating the ones around us, ambulance honking and the nurses helping my injured grandfather onto a stretcher and then hauling him into the vehicle, my parents yelling and shedding tears —

Suddenly, I felt nauseous. My sight blinded so I blinked to clear the foggy view of the horrific memories, attempted to watch clearly but I failed. In that moment, I didn't care who stood infront of me or why she was in here, I only aimed for door right beside my cushion.

Unbeknownst of where, exactly, the door knob was, I ran one of my hands throughout the expanse of the door, the other one gripping at my hair when the sounds of the waves of the sea from the beach in my head drowned, the commotion coming to an halt as I felt a hand closing in on my wrist. Erratic breaths found their rhythm and my hand dropped from my head.

"Slow breaths." It was an illusion that said it. Or it felt like one. An angel-a girl-not too younger than me stifled her panic and stepped forward. I saw through my glassy view how she wrapped another hand of hers around my other wrist and pulled me on the cushion with her. "Deep breaths," she murmured again, pressing on my wrists softly. She wore a white blouse and it was so white, I mistook her for a goddess.