Silhouetted

1.1 Every Quarter Random Beat: Raya, Anjeli, Me, and Violin

I

“You can tell me just one love story? for me, now!”

I looked up to find his face in front of me. Who her? I'm not sure. But I'm quite flattered for the greeting earlier. Because in a place like this, who remembers to say hello?

I was in a place, like an office. It may also not be an office but a money warehouse, it may also not be a money warehouse but a graveyard. I don't know, I often feel like this place is nothing. Because there's nothing I'm doing here except sitting behind a desk, staring at a pile of files that somehow are always there. The files always piled up and buried my eyes from other tables, as well as from anyone passing by.

In this place no one greeted each other, every day I only heard the sound of shoes colliding with the floor, sometimes I saw the owner cross-section. Anybody in a shirt, wearing a suit, tie, blazer, miniskirt, pipe pants, or what else?

Here there is no room to be understood, no mass to ask. Everyone moves, sometimes too fast, until I can't keep up. Then I just shut up. Shut up and hope to get through it. Until he greeted me. With his soft voice, and evokes old memories stored in the feeling spaces.

I raised my face, and then I saw the violin playing quietly, out of nowhere. The voice was so slashing, perhaps the person playing it was thinking of sadness. Ah, want me to bring her here to play in front of me while sharing the sadness that she might be holding.

But the one in front of me was just this guy, then I shifted my seat to the side. It turned out that he had gotten a chair out of nowhere and was immediately sitting next to me. Then almost at the same time we turned to look at the glass wall that I had been waiting for.

I just remembered that I was on the fifteenth floor. And now it's raining out there. I looked at the rain lines with him. We were silent for a long time, maybe he was waiting for me to talk while I could never talk when I was staring at the rain.

“Please tell me a story about love!”

He shrugged, “No idea, I was just wanting to hear a story about that.”

“There is no other reason? About memories, maybe? Does a story like that mean something to you?”

“Nothing, I'm also in the mood to talk about that. Why do all humans seem to have a reason to do or not do something?”

I'm lazy to answer, and I'm sure he doesn't need an answer. I remembered his request. Love story? I'm trying to break my memory. Love story? It's harder than expected. There are so many love stories that I remember, that I have to start, where do I start?

The goal of the violin sound is still felt, but now it changes rhythm. Still about sadness but more heartbreaking. Is there any other sadness he is thinking about?

I asked again, “You really want to hear a story about that?”

“Yes, there is currently nothing else I want to hear!” Her voice is firm.

I take a breath, even whoever he is I don't know yet. I was still trying to remember the figure of the person next to me, and thought I could remember it while telling stories, so I started telling you, “Alright, you know I used to know two names.”.