I was 14 when Celine moved in just across the street.

It was summer, and I still remember how her hair would flow in its glorious blonde color as the breeze went through. The boxes in front of her house was the background of her walking to my direction. She stood in front of the counter of the store my parents owned before the word slipped out of her mouth.

"Can I have a cutter?" her voice was smooth and I could hear it from behind the 1 meter tall counter. And her vanilla perfume—it didn't even help. My mother gave it to her as the girl put some money on the counter and left.



When I was 15, it was Oliver and James who kept on coming to the store—they waited for my after school shift on my parents' store then we went to the arcade. Celine came there one day, her hair was too short to my liking—making the breeze did a useless job because the blonde strands did not flow as it went through. Her hands were rested on the counter as she spoke.

"Can I have some pain killers?" her voice was still as smooth as ever—with a hint of shuddering due to the early autumn season. The sweater she was wearing looked a bit scratchy, and it was an oversized one, for her.

The sleeves ended just right below the edge of her fingers. And little did I notice, the sight of it didn't leave my mind for at least 2 weeks.



Then when I'm 16, my first girlfriend Alyssa was with me at the store. We were about to head out for some early dinner when Celine came in. Her hair was longer, and the cold winter wind successfully brought the blonde locks alive as it flew across her face.

"C-can I have glass—i mean mirror," she took some coins out of her sweater pocket and threw it on the counter. "The cheapest is fine."

It was kind of strange, but we did sell mirrors. The thing was just, I had to do some digging on the shelves before I could hand it to her. "Sure, wait for a moment."

And after I found it on one of the shelves, I walked to the counter with a strange feeling upon my stomach. I handed the cheapest mirror to her and took the money.

The girl looked at me before she suppressed a smile. "Thanks."

I was looking at Alyssa who was watching Celine walked out of the store when she turned her head at me, and threw me her lopsided smile. It felt kind of wrong, but I was so sure that I preferred Celine's smile compared to my girlfriend's.



At the age 17, I read some books about psychological behavior and anthropology. It was some things that I had the interest on studying once I got to college. They were captivating.

Some minutes passed and I was too caught up in between the pictures and the sentences. I was on the Self Harming Behavior section when a shadow towered over me. Oh yeah, customer, I thought, forgetting that I was on my shift that evening.

I looked up and see Celine. The short hair was long gone, now came the disheveled blonde locks, long enough that it reached her waist. There was no breeze going through the strands, and the color was lifeless.

"Can I have some r-ropes?" she coughed a little before covering her mouth with the edge of her jacket sleeve. "And one pack of black fine cut Dunhill, please."

I was thinking about her—Celine—when the said girl ordered me. The information were too much to be processed in the count of a second. It took almost a good 10 seconds before everything was registered inside my head. I looked up, to see Celine biting on her lips. Hard.

It was contrary what I was going to say with what I should have said as a seller. But nevertheless, it was wise. The word slipped out of my mouth in a weird tone—it was a bit hesitant, yet certain.

"No."

I could see the tears in the corners of Celine's eyes as she turned her body around and leave the store. It was displeasing to the eyes, but I couldn't help it.


The lifeless eyes, the messy hair, the long sleeve—she looked a little too much like the girl inside these pages I've been reading for a good 15 minutes.