CHAPTER 1: THE PARTY
MARYANN'S POV:
"Deep down my heart I found no peace".
Just like the flame that leaves the burning wood.
Feeling the ocean that flows and never stopped.
Even as the Lion keeps chasing it's prey carrying the wound that never stopped bleeding, Why me?, It shouted'.
"When I am known as the strongest animal, yet the most strongest hunter could not see my weakness' I cry out loud, the wind blew harder, feeling the pain in me", it said.
"The Hunter couldn't stand to find out why, rather he took to his heels for a life that's so precious to him", I imagine and cried.
"Why me?, why me?, why me"?, I
kept crying in her heart.
I cried every minute, hours, days, months and years, yet, no one could feel my pain, except the wind, I said.
While trying to wipe of my tears with the face wipe.
I have decided not to be sober anymore.
I got up and went by the window side.
Looking through, seeing everyone holding a glass of wine, smiling, cheering and dancing, while some
were just nodding their head.
Obviously our neighbors house warming party is still on going.
Still feeding my eye at the crowd, "wait a minute, could this be real"?, I asked myself.
I had seen countless faces pass me by on streets, in cafés, in the pages of fashion magazines, while flickering across movie screens, but none stayed with me.
None etched themselves into my thoughts like him.
The man whose skin glowed as if he carried sunlight beneath it,
He didn't just walk into a room, he arrived.
His presence poured into a space like warm honey, slow and rich, seeping into then senses of everyone present.
His skin had this unreal radiance, not the kind that came from cosmetics or artificial lights, but something alive, something
organic.
It was the kind of glow that made people turn their heads a second time, wondering if they had just caught a glimpse of something magical.
His complexion shimmered with health, kissed by the sun, but not tanned, no.
It was more than that. It was as if each cell of his skin had a story, a memory of golden mornings, of windswept afternoons, of secret smiles and whispered blessings.
He had the kind of skin that poets compared to rare pearls, and that artists tried to capture but never quite could.
It was a testament to purity and vibrance, a canvas of warmth and life.
It told a story of confidence, of well-being, of a man who loved himself in the most noble, non-arrogant way.
Then, there was his dimple. Just one.
Not the symmetrical pair that usually adorn model-perfect faces.
Not just one dimple, tucked teasingly into his left cheek, like a secret that only revealed itself when he smiled. And smile he did, often, easily, effortlessly.
That single dimple had its own charm, its own presence, like a punctuation mark in a beautiful sentence.
Pausing hearts and turning moments into memories.
It deepened when he laughed, when he greeted old friends or helped strangers.
It wasn't just an indentation in his cheek, it was a window into his soul.
What kind of man had such a dimple, so perfectly placed that even the most stoic of hearts softened upon seeing it.
A man touched by grace, It wasn't just the dimple, though.
It was how his whole face came alive when he smiled.
How his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, how his lips curved as if sculpted for joy.
That smile wasn't learned; it wasn't practiced.
It was innate. It bloomed naturally, like the sun rising over a sleepy world. Women noticed. Men admired.
Then, his attire. He didn't just wear
clothes; he wore them.
They didn't hang on him-they clung to him like they were made for his frame, tailored not just to size but to essence.
Each piece whispered class, spoke fluency in style.
Expensive; yes, but not loud. Not ostentatious. There was no need for that.
His elegance wasn't a shout-it was a murmur, a breath, a knowing nod.
His suits were of silk and fine wool, in shades that flattered his skin tone and dramed his strength.
When he moved, the fabric moved with him-not stiffly, but like a second skin, fluid and confident.
He had this way of blending modern fashion with timeless flair.
A deep navy double-breasted jacket over a snow-white shirt, no tie, just the collar open slightly,
revealing a glimpse of smooth skin and a hint of cologne that made you inhale deeply without realizing.
His shoes, polished to perfection, clicked rhythmically against marble or pavement, as if announcing something important.
Not arrogance, but arrival Presence.
A reminder that here walked a man who knew himself.
Still, that wasn't the most captivating thing.
It was the elegance.
It radiated from him. It wasn't just in the cut of his clothes or the smoothness of his gait.
It was in his being. He moved with purpose, but without rush.
He held doors open for strangers, offered his seat to the elderly, nodded politely at compliments but never fished for them.
His elegance was rooted in humility, grounded in grace. You could see it in how he bent to speak to a child.
It was natural, It was real, It wasn't rehearsed, it was him.
He was not a man you can forgot.
When he laughed, it was deep and rich, like cello strings vibrating through a quiet room.
When he spoke, his voice carried the kind of calm that made you want to listen, even if he was just talking about the weather.
His accent, smooth and global, hard to place, yet familiar in every note.
There was warmth in his tone, and a kind of curiosity that made you feel seen, heard, valued.
You could talk to him for five minutes and feel like he'd known you forever.
His smile, that smile, It was his most powerful weapon. It didn't just attract; it drew.
It pulled people into his orbit like planets to the sun. There was something
magnetic in it, something that made hearts flutter and pulses race.
Women turned their heads as he passed.
Not just because he was beautiful, but because that smile made them feel beautiful, if only for a second.
It made them wonder what it would be like to be the one he smiled for, not just at.
There was kindness in that smile. Not just charm. Not seduction, Kindness.
That rare, golden quality that speaks of empathy and soul.
You could see it reflected in the way he treated people, regardless their status.
Theway he paused to thank a janitor, or took the time to ask a waiter how their day was going.
He noticed the invisible. He elevated the overlooked.
His brows; those brows, They weren't crafted in a salon, but nature had done its work with an artist's hand.
They curved just enough to give his face a constant air of engagement, of gentle curiosity.
They framed his eyes like. parentheses around poetry.
Strong, thick, but not overbearing. Feminine hands would have paid good money for such perfect curves, yet on him they looked completely masculine, like the bold strokes of a master painter.
They were expressive, rising wit amusement, narrowing with concern, furrowing ever so slightly when he was lost in thought.
He wasn't perfect. No, that would have made him unreal. He was better than perfect, he was true.
He had little quirks. A habit of running his fingers through his hair when nervous.
A tendency to hum softly when lost in his own world.
A laugh that sometimes came at the wrong moment but made everything better.
It was these things that made you want to know him, not just look at him.
Because the more you looked, the more there was to see.
There was a storm in him, too. Not always visible, but palpable.
A depth behind the ease. He had lived. He had felt pain, tasted disappointment, walked through fire and come out polished, not burned.
You could feel it when you really looked into his eyes.
They sparkled, yes, but there was a flicker of something darker. Wisdom, experience.
Strength tempered by trial. He didn't flaunt his scars, but he didn't hide them either.
He is the man. And in a world of many
faces, many voices, many hearts, he is unforgettable.
The music was so loud that no one could hear what the other is saying.
Some ended up shouting trying to whisper to their friends. It was a very joyous gathering, with much fun and entertainment.
Now is getting late, yet no one seems bothered by the time.
The merry was still on going when he suddenly appeared.
sitting alone in the balcony, holding a glass of wine.
Wow!, l said, still admiring him. For some minutes now, I was lost in a thought trying to figure out who this could be.
"Henry", A voice called from behind. He immediately turned back to know who it was.
Victor who was smiling as he walked towards him.
"Man where have you been", said visitor.
"I have literally search everywhere for you", he said.
"Honestly man, you need to stop this, you are supposed to be having fun", said victor with a frown.
"Come of-it Victor", Henry said. "You and I know that this is not my thing" Henry explained.
"Hey man, not in this one", replied Victor. "Ok, just this once, their is this lady I would like you to meet", victor said.
"I hope this is not one of your match making tricks", Henry said, as he stared at Victor suspiciously.
"Cause l am not in the mood to be explaining myself to a stranger, all in the name of introduction", said Henry.
"My guy, My Gee" Victor said while trying to convince Henry.
"come on man, I am way smarter than that already", victor said, "after you told me what happened to you on that last date you went to, Victor said, still trying to adjust his tie.
"I am glad you remembered", replied Henry, "Meanwhile I need to go home, but before that, let me say hi to the lady as you requested", said Henry.
"Lead the way, said Henry. "that's my guy", victor said with all excitement.
Victor quickly led him through, with his unanimous smile.
"Maryann, Maryann", my mum called.
"Yes mum", I answered. "Maryann, where is this girl", she exclaimed.
"I am coming right away", I said realizing l have been lost in watching our neighbours on-going party.
"Oh no" I said, when I suddenly realized, that I don't even know my crush's name.
I immediately became moody, however, I still need to go and answer my mum.
I quickly jumped down from the window and immediately rushed out to answer my step mum.