Here I am back in Belii.
A small town in southern Europe, known for rarely tasting the rays of the sun. The only way to see them was to wait for dusk or dawn—or sunrise, I honestly have no idea. But it must be said that it was the only place where you could admire a perfectly clear sky to see all the stars covering the celestial dome.
And, given the extremely low crime rate in the region, you could, without any fear, walk through the streets of this idyllic town.
However, the darkness of the city was never total; though the moon and stars lit our way, it was still illuminated by the many streetlights scattered throughout Belii.
Just seeing those lights again from the plane that brought me here gave me an incredible wave of nostalgia. I didn't think that returning to my hometown after five years of studying in the United States and earning my master's in computer science would feel this good. Then again, after going through all those terrible news events over the past three years—it wasn't exactly relaxing: the pandemic, international conflicts, riots…
It was peaceful.
I didn't really want to work during my stay in Belii. I wanted to enjoy a normal vacation, like a tourist, but I don't think that's going to be possible with the small amount of money I managed to save. Even though the rent was reasonable, and Déa, who owned the place, let me stay rent-free for the summer, it was certain I'd be staying a little longer than three months.
Still, with this affordable rent, I could allow myself a few indulgences, like the bike I've been planning to get since I arrived—under the eternal mayoral mandate and his green policies, it's pretty frowned upon around here to drive a car.
This laziness left me doing nothing since the first day I arrived.
I was lying on my brand-new couch, bought by my aunt Déa, just like everything else in the apartment. It even made me regret not having kept in touch with her during the five years since I left. But well, I had a falling out with her current husband over petty things that he still holds against me—usually, it's the younger ones who are supposed to make the first move toward their elders.
But so far, she hadn't—yet!—forced me to talk to him again.
So for now, she hadn't come to fetch me for dinner at her place.
Thanks to Hector's childish behavior.
So here I was watching the Rush Hour trilogy on Netflix to relax—since Daredevil and the other Marvel superhero series and films had been removed.
But just as I was about to start the third episode, the doorbell rang. I had barely arrived, my boxes weren't even unpacked yet, and I could only imagine my aunt coming to bother me... I mean, ring my doorbell.
She must have forgotten something.
I take off my jacket and shoes to make it seem like I had bothered to change before settling in front of the TV and head for the door.
I'm not entirely sure it's my aunt. If she had forgotten something, she would've called to tell me.
You might find me a bit paranoid, but since I got back into reading some of those horror threads I used to binge back in college, I'm not exactly comfortable with unexpected visitors.
So I press my ear against the door and listen to what's happening outside, which makes me think I should install a peephole.
The door is thick, but I can make out voices. One says, "Come on, there's no one here." Then another, younger-sounding voice replies, "But I'm telling you, someone moved in!"
Well, that's reassuring.
If it were criminals, they'd be hiding their voices and their actions.
I straighten up and open the door. I look ahead and strangely, I don't see anyone.
— Over here, says the little voice.
I look down and see a little girl holding a green plastic pouch and two big tote bags. She has silky brown hair, a tanned complexion, and gorgeous green eyes. She gives me a big smile.
— Hi..., I say, intrigued. What can I do for you?
— I'm part of the "Little Kangaroos of Belii" association, and I'm selling chocolates to raise money for our upcoming trip to Australia.
The Little Kangaroos of Belii… I used to be part of that when I was younger. It was fun, as I recall. Lots of little boys and girls doing the wackiest activities together. I think we even went to Disneyland once... or maybe a budget version of it?
I don't remember anymore...
It's been too long.
But I'm glad it still exists!
— Really? When's your trip?
— On August 17th.
— But that's just in a few months, right? I say, surprised.
— Well, if you buy some chocolates, we'll reach our goal! she assures me.
She's pretty convincing. It's clear she's been well trained.
But something's bothering me.
I feel a heavy gaze watching me. I turn in the direction of that strange sensation and see a young woman in a light yellow T-shirt and black shorts. Her hair is long with bangs, flowing down her back.
I wave to her, but I can't make out her features due to my poor vision.
She replies with a wave.
I lean toward the little girl while still eyeing the unknown woman and ask her if she knows her.
— Well... that's my sister, she replies innocently.
That's a relief.
I didn't really want to hear about a disappearance the next morning in this peaceful little town.
But I was curious to see what her older sister looked like. So I decided to do something a little crazy out of "kindness."
— Wait here, I'll be right back.
I head into my living room and rummage through my bag to find my first wallet, then return to the little scout.
— How much for all your chocolate packs?
— Uh... well...
She crouches down, opens her tote bag, and starts counting them one by one, then comes back to me.
— If I do 1.5 times 20, that makes... thirty euros, she says proudly.
— Well, today's your lucky day because I'm buying all of them—and I'm adding fifty euros for your pocket money.
— Really?! the little girl shouts. You're not kidding?
— Of course not, I reply with a smile. Otherwise, I wouldn't say it, silly.
Am I throwing money out the window? My future self will probably curse me, but hey, I'm a good person—I won't crush a little girl's dream. She'll probably have better vacation memories than I ever did.
The little girl turns to her older sister and yells the great news, proud of her sale.
— Rebby! The man gave me... uh... thirty plus fifty...
— Eighty, I help her.
— Eighty euros! she shouts.
— What?! the older sister exclaims.
She rushes toward us and gets extremely close to me. I can't tell if she's mad at me or just concerned for my mental health, judging by her look.
But at least I can get a good look at her face, and I must say, my hunch about her beauty wasn't wrong—she's stunning, even in pajamas and without makeup. A true natural beauty.
— Are you sure you want to give all that money to my sister? she asks, visibly worried.
— Originally, I planned to give her seventy-five euros, but I slipped up, I whisper.
— That's not the point! she snaps, planting her fists on her hips.
— Anyway, it's for her trip. If she wants to give the extra to the Little Kangaroos or keep it as pocket money for Australia, it's none of my business.
She thinks for a moment, then sighs.
— Meryl, do what you want...
The little girl named Meryl squeals with joy and does a strange happy dance, spinning and throwing her hands in the air. Then she tugs on her sister Rebby's sleeve and says:
— We should give him the cake we made for him today, right?
— What cake? I ask, curious.
— Well, a cake to welcome you as the new neighbor, duh!
A bit old-fashioned—giving cakes to neighbors isn't really a thing anymore, is it? And yes, that expression is dated too.
The sister nods, and little Meryl runs toward the open door, where yellow light is spilling out.
So I'm left with the older sister. And as I said before, she's a real beauty. Lovely brown hair, defined cheekbones, a fine straight nose, the same complexion as her little sister, bright and uniquely orangey-brown eyes—making me crave the orange cakes from the bakery back in Florida—and stunning curves, highlighted even in her loungewear—I couldn't help but notice her cleavage.
There's a brief silence between us. If it lasted, things would get awkward.
— So you made a cake for my arrival? I start the conversation.
— We knew we'd have a new neighbor since we saw movers bringing tons of boxes all week, she explains, and Meryl insisted on baking you a welcome cake as soon as she saw you arrive. She planned to give it to you tomorrow.
— That's such a sweet gesture, I smile. So I know her name, but not yours—unless Rebby is your real name, in which case I apologize.
— Clever, aren't you! she replies, snapping her fingers and pointing at me.
She uses old-fashioned expressions too.
— Indeed, Rebby isn't my first name, as you guessed, Mr. Philanthropist—it's a nickname. My name is Rebecca. Rebecca Lani, to be exact.
— I'm Vince. Vince Miranda.
— Well then, I suppose with a name like that, you're never thirsty, huh? she jokes.
I blink and tilt my head to the side, squinting.
— Huh? I grunt.
— Okay okay, she says, embarrassed. I thought that joke would land.
— Let's just say it's... an original pun, I reply with a tight smile. You might be the first person to make that joke.
Absolutely not! She's definitely not the first to make that terrible joke. But hey, I won't be mean about it—she already realized how bad it was—comparing me to an off-brand drink... what an insult!
I may be overreacting to a simple joke, but honestly, I don't care. I know she was just trying to break the ice...
— I know you don't really mean it, she says.
— Courtesy demands it, I laugh. But nice try.
— I'm not really a funny person... I suck at jokes.
— Well, there's two of us then!
We both burst out laughing, unaware that little Meryl is wobbling as she brings the cake, which is way too heavy for her small arms.
When we open our eyes, we barely have time to see the young scout trip in front of us.
We didn't stand a chance of catching it. It's too late: the cake splatters all over my old Nikes and Rebecca's slippers.
Meryl, meanwhile, falls flat on the ground, arms outstretched, legs in the air.
She lifts her head and sees that the cake she put so much time and love into is now a heap of cream and crumbs. She bursts into tears.
— Meryl! her sister scolds. The neighbors are going to complain again!
— But... but... the cake! she sobs even louder.
Seeing that nothing will calm her, I approach, crouch down, and ruffle her hair to comfort her.
— Don't cry over that, kiddo.
I plunge my hand into the pile of cream and cake and pull out a piece to shove into my mouth.
— It's delicious! I say, genuinely surprised. Did you make it all by yourself?
Her tears stop and she nods quickly, then points to her sister.
— She handled the oven.
— That's amazing. Be proud of yourself—it's incredible, I praise her, patting her head with my clean hand. We'll have to bake one together sometime.
The little girl beams, finds her smile again, and stands up, cheerful and proud of her cake.
— Well, it's getting late, kid. I think it's bedtime for you, I say, standing up and wiping my hand on the hallway railing. I'll clean this up so none of us gets in trouble, alright? Good night, I wave.
She returns my "good night" and heads into her apartment.
— Thank you, Rebecca says. One day, I'll return the favor.
— Looking forward to that day, then.
Rebecca gives me one last smile and goes inside.
To be honest, even though her humor is... disastrous... she doesn't leave me indifferent. But before doing anything, I need to fix up my new apartment... and maybe start working out again.
Now, time to clean my shoes from what's left of that former cake