Fall

A cold breeze caressed the trees as it made its way through campus.

It was late October, and anyone could tell. Not from the spooky decorations or the never-ending pumpkins in each corner, but from the colors of the cloudy sky and of the leaves scattered all over the street.

The afternoon smelled of burning candles, warm chestnuts with salt and wet dirt, as it was the first day without rain after two whole weeks of non-stopping pouring. A squirrel ran over the field, looking for an acorn in the middle of the bushes.

She was sitting under a mostly naked tree, seemingly not bothered by the humid grass. With half her face buried inside a dark burgundy way too big scarf, she resembled a huge ball of wool rather than a living human being. Even though her hands were reddish from the cold, the oversized gloves remained forgotten on her lap, because she did not like to read without being able to touch the paper folios.

“Little Women, Book 1”. She was reading it for the sixth time now. The pages were becoming yellow, some she’d even have to glue back into the book – however, that was not a bother. It was a seconded handed book after all, and therefore far more precious.

Vintage goods were one of her favorite things in the world – right after literature, jazz music and a good slice of carrot cake – because she couldn’t help but wonder about who had owned them before. What would their story be? How did they feel about their former belongings? And what had those belongings made them feel?

Smiling as the dancing scene from Mrs. Gardiner’s party unfolded before her eyes, she didn’t notice as a figure approached her until their deep voice pulled her from her trance.

“What are you reading?”, he asked.

Despite the sudden break of her beloved silence having startled her, she gave him no answer, merely slightly lifting the book so he could read the title.

“Little Women”

He pronounced the words slowly, carefully, almost as if tasting each letter. “There’s no going wrong with a classic”.

The air suddenly got a bit warmer. She could sense he was smiling.

His accent was weird. Intriguing, actually. Enough to make her look away from her beloved book.

He was tall. It required a little bit more neck effort from her part, making her question her decision.

He looked tired. Happily tired though, as if whatever had drained away his energy had been totally worth it. He also looked anything but from around.

His face was covered in a sea of faint freckles, and he had a little mole right under his left eye. She could notice one right under his sharp jawline as well.

Although the day was not windy, his hair was still a fluffy hazelnut mess, kind of giving out crazy Einstein vibes. Had he even tried to fix it in the morning?

It felt like facing a golden retriever. Maybe due to his puppy brown gaze or slightly crooked smile, or maybe because a strong scent of hot chocolate with a hint of pumpkin spice emanated from that big, knitted sweater he was wearing.

“You smell like cinnamon rolls”

His eyes widened for a second, as if he’d been taken by surprise, and then he laughed.

She just sat there, staring. It was true. And she liked his laugh.

“I’m Aren”, said the dog-pastry-like boy.

He was sure her name would be Fall. He’d never seen someone so in sync with a season before. Even her hair was a mix of dark tones of red and orange that appeared to belong to an oil painting from an October landscape. He loved that.

After all, he had always been in love with fall.

“I’m Mint”, replied the girl.

And somewhere on the other side of the field, a photography student captured the meeting of two souls with his film camera, not knowing it would forever hold the story that was to be told to little restless kids around a fireplace years ahead.