It was a rather beautiful day to die.

I did not fancy dying before curing at least half of Vancouver's mentally disturbed population, and see them leave my clinic a little less... disturbed.

I don't think anyone fancied dying at all.

But you can't prevent death. It's inevitable. And I felt like Hades himself awaited me at the destination I was driving to, with a name board hung around his neck.

Now, I personally liked to stay away from drama and trouble. Because I cherished my face. Ever since in sixth standard when a bully girl had said I was "too cute to be bullied". She then went ahead and poured tuna mixed water over my head. I had thanked her with a fishy smile (pun intended), but that's off topic.

Ever since I was complimented on my looks, the little Cole developed a pride of a bastard. And started keeping my face out of trouble. I did not even get punched in the face during fist fights in college. I think I even got kneed in the balls a few times.

Now, how is this 'Stay out of shit and protect your face' campaign and the cause of my possible death related?

Well, today I was probably going to get a broken face, which kind of defeated the motto. And if I'm lucky enough, it might even lead to death.

So much pessimism for a mental health worker. I know.

Why? Because I was late. Not a minute or half, but two and half goddamn hours late.

Who was going to deform my face? That'll be my friend. My dearest childhood friend; Mic.

Michael Motherfucking Black, as everyone called him.

A stoic-faced bastard basically, but the jerk was close to my heart. Close enough for me to tolerate his cold ass attitude, and eternally doomed frowning face, and still stick by his side. We literally grew up in the same house. Family friends, shared lunch box, partner in crime and all.

I sped up through the light traffic, stepping on the gas a little too hard than I had ever done.

Damn, only if I hadn't rescheduled that appointment, I would have been out two or probably three hours ago. But again, I was a doctor. And also, as per my understanding, a good man.

So, when one of my most frequent clients and a good friend, Linda, came to me to ask for an early session, just as I was packing things up, I had observed her old droopy, almost lifeless eyes.

"I think I need your help, Doctor." She had mumbled to herself, looking blankly at my office floor.

Help.

I had instantly nodded. Like it was something natural to me, like I couldn't have told her to come in the evening, or preferably tomorrow. I could, but I didn't. I pulled up a chair, and we sat down through an unplanned session. And there I invested two and half hours of the free time from my half day.

I turned the corner, onto a road with much less traffic, all the while curious of what was happening at the court, and with Mic.

Michael was a successful businessman, almost impressive for his age, but I don't think his marriage worked out as well as his business deals did. And now I made my way toward the court to attend his divorce hearing. Today was the final verdict and I, being the overenthusiastic sidekick, proposed to be there so he could not feel all left out. Since his wife, the only family he had, was leaving him too.

Poor Mic.

Finally, the gigantic court building came into view, just across the road, and I parked right there, before jumping out of the car. The car made a little beep as it locked behind me, and I jogged across the road towards the entrance. As I approached the building, Michael's black SUV caught my eyes, and hope bloomed in my chest anew.

Maybe I made it.

Sometimes hearings were postponed. Maybe it was still going on, and I could make it. Maybe, I could protect my face.

It was just a little effort at self-consoling.

But my bubble of hope painfully busted in my chest, when I saw Mic and his lawyer, exiting through the mighty front doors of the court. By then, I was at the entrance gate and decided to just wait outside.

Because if I were to get punched, I didn't want anyone to see it.

A reputation is all a man has.

The streets were rather empty, I could hide my distorted face in the shadows falling from the tall boundary walls.

Michael gracefully stepped down the long trail of rounded stairs, posture straight and rigid, speaking to his lawyer, with his face as impassive as ever. Me, being a psychiatrist, could never figure out what he was thinking or was up to. Never.

Mic caught a glimpse of me, and narrowed his threatening, dark eyes at me. I flashed him a playful boyish grin, in an effort to look vulnerable. He held up a finger, indicating me to wait where I was, as he walked away to the other side of the building with his lawyer.

A sigh eased out of me. I was just overreacting. He didn't look as mad as I thought he would be. But again, I could hardly predict that from his expressionless face.

As instructed, I waited outside the gate, mostly in the shadows, shielding myself away from the skin frying rays of the sun.

Lazily leaning my head back on the wall, my eyes slid shut. My chest felt lighter now, then it was a few moments back. And everything around was so calm. No engines roared on the road, or a single human presence disturbed the peaceful atmosphere. I liked it.

As much as my work revolved around people, I sometimes found peace in solitude.

But it's so hot here.

Just as I decided I could go and wait it the car rather than burning in the heat of the sun, a distant footstep, or distinctly saying, heels clicking against the floor, caught my attention.

My ears perked up like the arch of my left eyebrow, and eyes opened to the blues and greens towering above me.

Weirdly enough, the sound didn't upset the serenity of the surrounding. It was like a little background music to a video. Not drawing much attention, but still, it was there.

I listened, more attentively than necessary, to the sound of the heels. Whoever it was, they were walking in a pattern —two steps, halt, another two steps and halt. I could almost imagine those shoes, red pumps maybe, pointed front, and long slender stumps supporting their weight.

It was not until I heard a voice, a very soft, muffled voice from afar, that I found myself snapping out of my daydreams. It was a female voice, followed by a male. But it was her voice that stirred my position. It had a strange edge to it. I couldn't make out what she was saying because I was concentrated on her tone. Too concentrated. Maybe that was the reason it felt so familiar.

Who is that?

As the question rose at the back of my head, in that moment, maybe for a split of second, I was curious to see her. The owner of the voice...and the heels.

So, I did.

I pushed back from the wall and straightened up, pulling the front of my navy blazer firm, before turning around, just enough to peek in through the thick iron rods of the gates.

My hands stuffed inside my trouser pockets unconsciously slid out, and reached for the iron gate, eyes glued on a figure standing at the bottom of the stairs, just a few meters away from it.

At first, I saw only a mass of honey brown hair with streaks of gold waves running down to the mid of her waist. A dark maroon dress clung to her body, gripping the curves of her hips and dips of her waist. She was saying something but her back view muffled her voice reaching my ears.

And I watched, transfixed.

The last time I stared so closely at anything was when I was practicing hypnosis in medical school. Because nothing after that was ever able to grab my attention so strong, for so long, and hold it. Not until now.

My skin prickled and I tensed my jaws to suppress a heated shiver crawling down my back. And there was that question again.

Who is that?

As an answer to my silent question (perhaps), she turned around, from back view to side view, and her hair blew over her narrow shoulders, beautiful brown waves dancing in the breeze across pale skin. My eyes helplessly tried not to linger over the curvy fullness or the subtle roundness along her lean body. It was difficult. To look or to look away, I didn't know. But I was aware when my fingers tightened around the iron grills.

And then my eyes landed on her shoes. Black pencil heels.

I didn't know why I smiled.

I was like a kid watching a candy machine from outside the park. Unable to suppress the excitement of seeing it nor the disappointment of not having it.

It was ridiculous.

Somewhere at the back of my head, a thought was steering but my subconscious forced it down, not letting it surface.

Think about someone...

After a moment, the lady faced into my direction. Just a glance, and it almost threw me off balance.

Think about her...

I could hardly see the face under those big black shades, and the waves of her hair, blowing all over her face. She made no attempt to brush them off, her eyes —I couldn't see them but her head tilted forward— locked on some papers in her hand.

Think about her....

The papers were the last thing I saw, before my phone buzzed against my thighs.

I flinched, painfully becoming aware of where I was and what I was doing. I looked around nervously. No one was around. Okay, nobody saw my sudden bolt-out of my reverie.

God, so embarrassing.

My phone buzzed again, and I dug into my pocket to fish it out. It was Olivia.

Think about Olivia...

I stared blankly at the name, then pinched the bridge of my nose. What was I doing?

What the fuck was I doing?

Ogling at another woman while your girlfriend was probably missing her boyfriend. A voice, cruel and distant rang in my ears, flooding my chest with guilt.

"Babe," I said, voice hushed, as if afraid the mystery lady would hear me.

"Ian, where have you been all day?" She asked, less annoyed and more curious, or concerned. I could not tell amidst the many thoughts floating about in my head.

"I've been...busy," I cleared my throat. "But I'm free now." And gawking at other women.

"I see," There was a pause before she spoke again. "I miss you."

My heart momentarily slowed down at the husky tone of her voice. And more guilt washed over me like the late October breeze blowing over my head right now.

"Me too." I almost sighed. These were the rare moments when I felt like she deserved better than what she had right now. And what she had was me.

"Can I see you now?" Her voice softened.

Unwillingly, my eyes travelled up, and a frown crawled up my face. The beautiful lady was still there, but across her was standing Mic. She was talking to him, but his face, as impassive as ever, wasn't giving anything away.

Do they know each other? Perhaps she is one of his business clients, that's why I kept feeling like I've heard her before. Her voice though...

"Babe?"

"Uh, Yeah, I'll see you tonight." I said, again distracted and heard her sigh.

"Come soon."

"I will. Love you." I waited for her to hang up, then stuffed the phone back into my pocket and opened the gates, walking in at a pace just a bit faster than normal.

Don't stare. Don't look.

The Goddess...I mean, the lady, turned around with a man, who I assumed was a lawyer, as they walked away from Mic, and toward the gate. Toward me. I ducked my head, tracing my shadow that pooled around my feet.

That's better. No looking, no issues. I kept my gaze locked on the ground, as we crossed paths.

A gust of warm breeze blew across me as she moved past, a lingering scent of flowers following in the air, tailing behind her in an invisible trail. I unconsciously inhaled, more deeply than necessary, trying to fill my lungs with that scent. And a single word slid into my confused brain, unbidden.

Vanilla.