Ziva: A Bleak Romance?

Kicking off her shoes, Ziva slumped on the sofa, her cats vying for her lap, she sighed letting them decide. Patches padded in a circular motion twice, settling triumphant, Asher resigned himself to resting his head on Ziva’s knee to enjoy a head scratch. This was a regular evening unless she had a party to attend, the older she became, time at home with the cats increased. Rylan boasted, his wife was pregnant again with their second child, and his beautiful daughter Eliza, successful in his career and from the outside he portrayed a picture of a perfect life. She interpreted purrs, meows, and chirps, Ziva tried to hold a conversation when the reality was, they wanted love, or food, and she was talking to herself.

She confided in Ayaka, since questioning her sexuality, the dating scene had felt like a scary place. Elizabeth’s rejection had been hard, the attraction to her was stronger than she experienced with Arian and revealed a side of herself she wanted to explore deeper. Ziva allowed work to swallow her it was a means of avoiding saying what she wanted from life. This evasion flooded her party nights, while the music, dancing and alcohol helped Ziva lose herself, forgetting the reduced number of friends in attendance, knowing they were home with their partners and family. Pushing in the last bite of chocolate brownie with her fork, Ziva succumbed and admitted that she desired someone who could share their life with her. 

San Myshuno, Ayaka believing she could help solve Ziva’s romantic slump, the festival vibe, sakura tea, the Guru’s wisdom, maybe she’d run into Mrs Right? Ziva scanned the sparsely attended event, the few couples that came for the wedding arch, ideas for their forthcoming nuptials, the wannabe artists pretending to create pictures that represented their love for each other and then, her and Ayaka, sipping sakura tea, both single.

Ziva admired the couples lining up to gain the Guru’s wisdom, they were smiling, arms linked. She imagined him telling them of winding roads, sunsets over Windenberg, moonbeams dancing on the Sulani waters, all sounded romantic. They had love, short bursts of passion, maybe a few amazing months or growing old together, two grey-haired people rocking on the veranda, their twilight years beckoning. Encouraged, Ziva stepped in, bated breath and hope drained as the Guru looked her over. He pursed his lips, head shaking, careful to select his words, Ziva gripped her dress when that word came, bleak. Her enthusiasm melted, Ayaka assured her it meant her current outlook, the vibe Ziva herself felt and that the Guru picked up on. The romance festival lost its beauty and promise, Ziva walked, head hung, Ayaka hugged her, love would find them when they were least prepared.

The festival seemed a good idea, the results were unimpressive. Ziva forced herself to look for the positive, improving health, it felt amazing, she no longer held her breath when fastening jeans. She had loving friendships, invitations to barbecue, parties, and someone to meet for coffee. Her brothers growing family meant she could borrow his children, do all the fun stuff without the messy cleaning up or tantrums. None of it made up for the fact she lived alone, and the stigma Rylan pushed to his friends was that of a crazy cat lady!

Ziva: Asher

Benefits for her revised lifestyle, should have included a trimmer figure, improved moods, decreased stress, perhaps heart health, however, her regular jog got her some inquisitive attention from the small furry kind. A tortoiseshell cat followed her home and he seemed intent on staying. Ziva saw him as she jogged by a cold campfire, he was pawing the ash, eager to retrieve leftover fish, but the embers were warm. Since Patches moved in Ziva had stopped carrying her spare chicken, this scene changed her mind, that was a month ago and this feline had placed his pawprints on her heart.

Ziva named her visitor Asher, he would sit crying on the porch, butting his head against the door when she opened it a fraction. Introducing this eager companion would be difficult since Patches chased most suitors and had domain over the house. Leaving Asher outside was onerous, determined to adopt Ziva and this home. Asher laid, his body elongated, tail flicked, Ziva tested the waters, Patches gave him a disinterested glance, a warning hiss as she puffed her fur. He yawned, stretches his legs, uncurling his paws, with zero intention of leaving this heaven, sundrenched spot. Patches continued, she enjoyed rolling, a special spot on the grass, a place she could keep an eye on the rouge.

In the evening she knew Asher would be pacing, pouncing on leaves caught by the breeze. Patches curled on the sofa awaiting her tummy rubs, a few spots of rain and Ziva knew the porch was the wrong place for there new friend. Opening the door, an inquisitive Patches hissed and disappeared, she kept her eye on the invited stranger. Tentative, Asher crept, his body stiff, unsure if Patches would give chase. Spying the food he moved swift, hungry to get his fill, Patches jumped back on the sofa unimpressed at the sharing and rejected Ziva’s affectionate head scratch. He might find the sofa an unwelcoming place, however, a catnip toy Patches disregarded made for an interesting post-meal frenzied attack.

Asher settled, Ziva wondered whether he had known the warmth of a home, he interrupted Patches time with Ziva, gaining her attention. His bum raised in the air, a wiggle and pouncing on the toy. Ziva fussed him, the toy presented, proud purring and Patches nuzzled desperate to take back her owner’s hand. As the original cat, Patches protected what she saw as her area, she lept on the sofa, puffing her fluffy body and arching her back, confused by Asher’s response. He rolled over, body stretched, paws patting the air, everything Patches did to deter this intruder, Asher perceived as an invitation to play.

Patches seemed to tolerate the stray invading her home, she laid her rules for Asher to follow, rules he loved to push. He found ways to stay close to Ziva, mirroring Patches. Ziva puzzled over the game design, a cat slept on either side of her chair, it was the most peace they had given each other all day, she found their curled bodies, occasional snore distracting. Work had been monotonous, her social life had been quieter, many of her friends were settling down, and she found herself a mother of two furbabies. Eliza had her realising family was something she had desired, but borrowing her niece a few times a month was no substitute for the life she was missing.

Rylan: Bubbles

Emilie failed to recall her last night of partying, with pregnancy and being unable to slip comfortably into her favourite dress it felt like a long time. She leaned back across the bed, wriggling, holding her stomach, begging the zip to close. Slender frame adjusted following the introduction of her daughter who Eliza waved her plush cat, babbling nonsense, a story she alone understood. The motivation for fitness waned, distracted by the desire to teach Eliza everything. Tonight, would be for her, Emilie gritted her teeth, a final button held the skinny jeans, leaving Rylan alone with Eliza her biggest worry.

The party, located on the Bluffs, a rocky Isle situated off the coast of Windenberg, drew the crowds. It had been home to a monument or a Greek-style temple, years of neglect meant it was chunks of old rock and a large green pool. Emilie cringed, brave souls swam diving and swimming in a slimy abyss. She stuck close to the Mischief Makers throwing chemicals to the bonfire hoping to alter the colours of the flames.

The main draw, the music, the rave thrived, DJs looking to make their name, and the mixologists shaking mind-bending drinks added to the thrill. Emilie loved the chilled air and calming waters as everything fell silent, she could hear herself breathing, an eerie excitement. A low rumble from the bass, a steady heartbeat rhythm pulsed with coloured lights, twisting, teasing chords built, faster, all erupting into chaos, cheers, whooping, and fists pounded the air. Free, for a moment Emilie forgot herself, lost in sound, hair whipped, feet stomped muddy ground and lips sipped cherry cocktails.

Rylan faced Eliza, she had dragged a bar chair across the kitchen, a challenge for any two-year-old, and she stood enjoying chocolate cake, small handfuls, the fridge light illuminating her. She wriggled, reaching for extra as Rylan grabbed her firmly, his foolish belief Eliza would sit quiet watching cartoon while he edited videos. Chocolate rippled through her black waves, smothered her face, a sweet facemask for any beauty queen, mischievous giggles, and sudden objection. He trapped her in the bathroom, water running, desperate to escape, Eliza failed to reach the door handle. Tears, arms folded, Eliza stood ridged as Rylan wrestled, freeing her from chocolate-covered clothes. Eliza let her body sink limp to the floor, Rylan rolled his eyes, Emilie taught him a trick, bubbles, masses of foamy scanty fun, dolloped on her head, her eyes excited shuffled to the bath, arms in the air ready for dunking. Lifting her high, Rylan teased lowering and raising her a few times, Eliza squealed delighted as he plunged her into the warm waters. This was the best moment of fatherhood, he sat back watching her shape the bubbles.

It could be easy to lose themselves in the toddler training and tantrums, the quest for wealth and fame, but Emilie needed Rylan to remember she was a woman first and his wife. Tired of the excuses they both made she seized a quiet opportunity, as Eliza enjoyed an afternoon with Ziva, Emilie surprised Rylan pushing him against the closet.  There’s no room for naked hang-ups when a gorgeous blonde wants her wicked way, Rylan held Emilie, sliding the closet door, they tumbled in.

Rylan: Friendship? Vlogging and Tiny Mischief

Mischief had a price, Emilie forwarded her chain letters, the thought that went into their creation would have impressed Rylan. He was busy, zero time for silly e-mails, however, their friend Alex, was very unimpressed. She called ranting and raving, Emilie held the phone at arm’s length, bringing it closer to try calming the conversation. To make amends Emilie suggested lunch, with Chez Llama reservations. Emilie came with apologies, wrapped in a sense of humour, she wanted Alex to relax, enjoy a meal. Instead, Alex outright rejected her efforts, she felt the messages were inappropriate and a waste of time, their friendship stood on shaky ground, and Alex had finally had enough. The host observed them from the window, the increased tension, Emilie shifted awkward and embarrassed, while Alex walked to her car fuming.

Vlogging he claimed would replace writing; with the rise of social media the question was, what should he discuss? Homelife was filled with diapers, temper tantrums and Emilie wittering, he was unclear about what and rarely listened, instead he focused on stardom. The book royalties were rolling in, giving Rylan licence to exploit his fame, with advertising deals. Emilie glared, her husband sold his identity, the videos had followers unimpressed, agreeing with her, this bold move would prove a negative influence in his desire for fame and wealth.

Motherhood, Emilie assumed she would relish the excitement, approaching it with a flare and a romanticised ideal. Eliza had other plans, despite her size she was fast, wriggling into the closet, munching on the stolen cake, giggling at her father’s confusion. Sugar highs brought frustrating lows, Eliza stomped, throwing her toys, crying, Emilie wrestled her daughter, desperate for her to settle. Biting her bottom lip, Emilie laughed at Rylan, he had been eyeing up the last slice of cake, how could his daughter have given him the slip and devoured the last morsel.

Eliza giggled; Emilie smiled confused, cleaning the breakfast bar after another messy meal. Pattering through the kitchen, picture cards in hand, Eliza was ready for her lessons. It had become routine, Emilie’s determination to make her daughter the best she could be, teaching her was a full-time occupation. In the evenings Rylan grumbled, Eliza found him fascinating as she sat quietly, her head tilting as he talked into the camera, having learnt the hard way that Rylan hated interruptions. He shifted, shaking the unease, and testing his poor parenting skills, Emilie cooked dinner meaning he was the responsible parent, Rylan wished Eliza would sit in her highchair babbling to Emilie or play with her toys.

Educating her daughter in future skills made only a part of her curriculum, knowing how to tease and torment her father was the source of real fun. Rylan loved to sleep late, Sundays were his chilled day, the lads came over for barbecue and beers; Eliza, with Emilie’s help, loved to disrupt this. Eliza, her hands squeezing peas, crawled under the duvet, Emilie suppressed laughter, Rylan yelled, the frozen vegetables tumbled through his pyjamas. The bottom lip quivered, her eyes, glossy, widened, Rylan held his temper, as Eliza scrambled, hiding by her mother. She peeked, a cheeky smile, relaxed him, he laid down inviting them to join him, giving his mischievous child a huge hug.

Rylan and Ziva: Another Birthday

Ziva held her breath, pulled her stomach in tight and squeezed into her orange party dress she thought looked flattering, shop mirrors were delusional, the folded detail at the front did nothing for her curvy figure. Reflecting on her life was hard, a sedentary job and a busy social life meant she had enjoyed the finer things and failed to watch over her health. Rylan teased her, his dad-bod underway, it appeared neither of them had inherited their father’s slender frame or mothers’ passion for fitness. Accepting these curves was something Ziva chose to embrace, revitalizing her wardrobe and investing in some running shoes; even if they remained in the box, the intention was there. The extra candles on their cake were fine; what made the day difficult was seeing her brother play happy families, knowing how much they all loved each other. He enjoyed reminding her she was becoming a spinster, surrounded by cats and memories.

Rylan had made rare journeys to Brindleton Bay, moaning the whole time, the travel, and the cloudy wet weather. Ziva believed his reluctance had to do with the voluntary work they did here as children, Jose thought it built character, Rylan saw it as punishment. She objected in jest, the idea their friends would be hanging in her drab abode made her uncomfortable, at least Rylan had space and comfort.

The party fizzed, Rylan’s friends knocked back beer, raucous laughter and crude jokes filled the air.  Ziva wished she’d invited a few extra friends; she snuck upstairs for a few moments with her niece, the baby gurgled in her arms. What felt so natural, seemed beyond her reach. Rylan grinned at his sister, he wondered where she got to. He had run into Arian at the cinema, having moved back a few months ago, he was currently knocking back beers with Miguel. Ziva laid Eliza in her bassinet and checked herself in the bedroom mirror. Why had he come back to Newcrest? Arian had been quiet, their e-mails were sparse, a couple of months since his last vague effort. Smoothing her dress, Ziva headed downstairs, Emilia had enough candles to burn the house down, the cake sat at risk of a wax coat and melted icing.

Her conversation with Arian interrupted, Rylan needed another opponent, the new games console Emilie bought him was the party’s focus. Ziva shuffled into the kitchen, helping Emilie and Elizabeth clean. Rylan loved to steal the limelight, their birthday was no exception, Arian did take her number with a promise they should catch up when things were calmer. He commented with polite intention over her blossoming figure, Rylan rolled his eyes offering her a second cake slice, suggesting it reflected her excessive life. She cringed, embarrassed; the cake sat tempting on her plate. Arian smiled, sympathetic over her tolerance for Rylan, but the extra pat on her stomach from Rylan had made her feel guilty so she set her dessert aside. Emilie wiped the breakfast bar,  Ziva stared, with the remaining cake she could comfort herself, instead, she refused, deciding to head home and avoid any unpleasant or awkward questions should Arian dare to ask any.

She pressed her feet into her trainers, Patches sat on the dresser with a disdainful expression. It was the first morning she had woken without a hangover after a party, and with the sun beating down on the waves it was the perfect time to try the jogging mission again. Being curvy was who she was, embraced it, but she knew to keep enjoying cake, Ziva needed some give in her jeans.

Ziva: Life Choices

When she first arrived in Brindleton Bay, Supriya welcomed her to the neighbourhood. Ziva worked with her husband, Jerome, who helped her settle into her new role and encouraged her to pursue her Tech Guru dreams. They had two children; the eldest Michael worked in a restaurant, whilst Jessica went to high school. Their house needed attention when they bought it, Supriya motivated herself, the renovations and raising their children, so it meant friends had yet to visit.

Ziva admired the grandeur, compared to her humble and sparse decor, this house could be a palace. A staircase curled the wall to the first floor, a bannister lined the open walkway, framing the faux candle chandelier. The circular rug had seen better days, having children, and Ziva recalled Jerome mentioned they had a dog, had contributed to its frayed appearance. Supriya interrupted her thoughts, keen to get Ziva into the pool.

They sat on the edge, feet dipped, kicking the water, Jerome provided a few cocktails, meaning swimming was off the menu. Ziva felt dizzy, wishing she had eaten lunch rather than waiting for the promised barbecue. Supriya loved her children talking about an overwhelming number of stories, and when Ziva looked to losing interest, Supriya followed changed the subject and talked about the house aspect. Conversation from Ziva’s perspective was observational, she told stories about her niece, the quirks and experiences her sister-in-law shared, or her cat, Patches. Jerome urged his wife and she giggled, nudging Ziva, keen to know of any potential romances. She shook her head when Ziva avoided discussing her love life beyond the mention of Arian, still questioning herself and her developing interest in women. Disappointed, Supriya changed the subject, as Ziva looked hopeful, mouth-watering as Jerome dressed the burgers.

Hungry, Ziva indulged, the fruit salad hidden by chocolate cake, hoping to balance her diet with the rich food of the day. Patches was puzzled, she had polished off the chicken at breakfast, and despite Ziva reminding her, Patches pawed the fridge, singing for treats. Supriya had a point, Ziva had put little effort into her home, it looked neglected, which was appropriate, work, and a hectic social beckoned. Rylan had Emilie and her love of soft furnishings, their home was busy, warm, and lived in. This place, cold, drab, the small windows failed to illuminate her world, Ziva wished someone would come into her life who had the vision to transform it into a warm homely place.

In Supriya’s eyes, Ziva neglected her relationships, being single and almost forty years old, her friend worried she was leaving everything late. A fair point, Ziva had focused on her career, just like her mother driven to succeed, where they differed was Aria had Jose, the pair were a team. Ziva flipped the laser pointer distracting Patches, she enjoyed life, believing she had time for everything, including starting a family.  Rylan cooed, Eliza would be taking her first steps soon, they were discussing baby number two, while Ziva pondered getting another cat or hanging with her friends. This change in their lives would surprise their parents. Patches patted the still light, bored, her human lost in thoughts if playtime had finished, that meant snack time, her third nap, perhaps she would try the computer chair for her next siesta.

Ziva: Money? No. Fancy a Rave?

Despite success in her career, money accumulated in bills, parties and small home improvements. The rainy day fund looked like a dry Tuesday rather than a wet weekend, meaning she needed a few extra projects to secure her finances. Work put mini projects on the intranet, people wanting applications or plug-ins designing. Ziva had dabbled in creating mods for various games; a combination of these side jobs could prove lucrative. Patches pawed at her leg, unimpressed she was putting increased hours at the computer, she preferred the comfort, stretching her body, the sofa provided this and warmth from her human pet.

The demands on her time from new businesses eager to board the internet train had pushed Ziva towards her promotion. A Dot-Com pioneer for the masses, developing websites with fancy fonts and a host of code to support it. Some of the projects amused her, selling objects leave you confused over why you needed, a toilet roll and phone holder. Another charged the person to leave a comment; the price increased each time. Ziva did on occasion disagree with the work given; programming, however, it helped her unwind.

She loved her job; from helping those panicking over the blue screen, consulting in the development of new software and creating those little side projects. In private distractions, aside from Patches, Ziva needed to learn when to say no, refusing a party invitation seemed rude. Tonight’s party invite came from her crush, albeit a group gathering, Elizabeth made the call.

The Von Haunts Estate is known for the gardens, historic house and the place to host your wedding. Having people in the know, meant late-night raves and cheap drinks with the best DJ’s. Ziva promised herself to stay two hours; her budget would cover three drinks and a promise, taking the last train home. The steady speaker hum, thudding bass, a lost melody; Ziva danced hypnotised, the rhythm design to keep them enslaved. Time ticked, musical heartbeats tricked, colour bled, the sky brightened above them. There had been something magical, Ziva loved to watch the sunrise, it was better on her balcony with a coffee and after a nights sleep. From this side of the day, it came as the reminder she had surpassed her budget; it looked beautiful, worth the hangover.

The party vibed, despite opportunities to leave, Ziva refused to take them, another bout of laughed drew her attention, drinks at the bar with Elizabeth and the music, she danced, every song felt like her favourite. It had been a group of friends having fun, but with people drifting, Ziva struggled to keep her eyes open. She dozed, train ricocheted, dreams of pancakes, scrambled egg, slithers of bacon filled her head, she lacked the energy to make any. Stumbled slamming the door open, Patches yawned, a disgusted look, Ziva pouted, forgiveness from a cat was simple with a secret stash of chicken. Ziva slumped clothed on her bed, Patches full stomach purred loud, paws making biscuits.

Ziva: The Social Cat Lady

The bed snuggled, warmth inviting, and the soothing purring, Ziva hated the idea she had to leave. Patches curled close or climbed on her stomach pinning her to the bed calming eyes pleaded that she stayed. How could Ziva be cruel, moving her best friend, work should make allowances for kitty love, right? Over breakfast, Patches eyed the omelette, sniffing the air, Ziva sliced a piece, saving it till the end, sharing the deliciousness. Ziva wanted someone to share her life with, Patches filled the hole, distracting her, pawing her trousers, those extra cuddles making her late for work.

Patches settled, her new home had cupboards, perfect hiding spots, from the fridge she surveyed her kitchen or jumped on Ziva when reaching for a snack. What Ziva ate, Patches wanted a taste, she bit at marshmallows, spitting the soft sugary texture, curiosity unsatisfied. Chicken held the big draw; Ziva joked with Emilie how Patches knew when the roast was ready. She would run to the kitchen, sometimes from the beach, winding herself through Ziva’s legs, impatient cries. If pets were like their owners, Patches hit the mark, a foody soulmate in Ziva.

Laura avoided Ziva’s calls for months, this invitation to the Humour and Hijinks festival surprised her. The Art Gallery, San Myshuno provided the backdrop, Ziva made a note to visit, try her hand at the murals they raved about in the brochure. Ayaka and Maestro joined the event, making themselves scarce, sensing Laura’s awkward vibe. Ziva stood hoping Laura would be open; they had been best friends since school, Laura had kept her sexuality hidden, shy near other women. When Ziva approached Elizabeth, Laura needed an honest conversation with herself. Standing a few feet from the festival celebrations, Laura wondered if Ziva saw her in the same way. It was risky, Laura’s heart raced, she rubbed her hands on her skirt, waiting for Ziva’s response. Silence followed, flattered, Ziva was questioning her own emotions. She had enjoyed the company of men, meeting Elizabeth had changed that, it was all new to her. Moving forward, Ziva was unsure where her future lay, she knew that Laura was a sister figure rather than a lover.

They walked over to the festival Laura pouted, disappointed, she slipped away leaving the jokesters. The team and Ayaka chose to party without her. Ziva looked around, a couple of drinks in hand, she understood why Laura left, with a half-smile, she hoped that they were still friends. Rather than wander alone with her thoughts Ziva became distracted telling jokes; sneaking a look at her phone hoping Laura messaged her back. Maestro jumped, actioning the crowd to join, whipping up from the stand he regaled stories of water cooler gossip and penguins in biscuits tins that had everyone in hysterics.

It had been enough for the win, the pranksters were sore losers, deflated whoopie cushions and raw eggs on their shoes, knocking over chairs, swearing as Maestro lit the fireworks which erupted in yellow and purple, pops, bangs and cheers from the crowd.

Ziva: Into the Light

Ziva dropped to the chair, head throbbing, stomach-churning, it had been a crazy night some parts of which she questioned as to what had happened. Meeting up with her girlfriends on Friday nights for post-work drinks had become the routine. Last night Ziva strained her thoughts, how had she got into bed? 

Opening the front door blurred sights and sounds mixed with a focused beam of light emitting from the sky, Ziva floated, her body raised to the sky. Blinded, disoriented; other senses failed to make the experience cohesive. Voices echoed, close, quiet conversation in a language she should have understood; instead, the words themselves sounded alien.

Pins and needles danced on her body, Ziva checked herself for signs of the intravenous drips or were other areas of her body probed, investigated for study. She ran to the toilet regretting drinking shots, Ayaka convinced her it was a good idea. Ziva would have thought swimming to Brindleton Bay lighthouse a good idea after a bottle of wine. Pushing back, Ziva leaning against the tiled wall, perhaps this was a joke, her alcohol-infused brain creating amused strangers in harden suits, equipped with liquid emerald lights.

Patches remained oblivious, pretending to have slept through Ziva’s toilet visit, except evidence shown in the missing bites of breakfast. Ziva scratched the offered stomach, warm, furry full of food and purrs; if cats could talk, maybe Patches could let her know it was all a crazy dream. Shaking this feeling would take time. Ziva refused to surrender to the lunacy of an Alien abduction.

Putting the experience or dream aside; Ziva wrestled with normality and a hangover which disagreed with her breakfast for the second time. If Saturday is on the sofa, curled with Patches and an old movie, Sunday needed to hold some excitement. A three-hour train journey, San Myshuno hosted the best flea market, money tight, Ziva knew it would be lunch and haggling for a trinket for her niece. Ayaka met her whilst looking for some pieces to brighten her apartment, Ziva bartered with the vendors, meaning their food, came with a nifty reduction.

The burrito slid down a treat, Ziva pondered her dream, the parts that she could remember, her friend teasing how the Aliens preferred it that way. Rumours circulated online, the probing investigation into human anatomy and men who returned impregnated with green, purple or blue offspring, all starting with beams of light and shadowy theatre figures hoping you would sleep through the debacle. They erupted in laughter, Ziva’s suggestion her brother would love that idea, as for her own, dreams were the nonsensical way to deal with her waking life, a reminder she was alone.

Ayaka hired a basketball, challenging Ziva to shoot hoops. Her friend rocked her forties, her moves flowed across the court, Ziva wheezed minutes into the match, staggering to the bench. Knowing she had gained weight and embarrassed by the sniggering onlookers, she desperately wanted to leave on the train home. She had good intentions, Ziva had started running, the sea air opened her lungs, giving her energy. The recent effort was non-existent due to her busy work and social life, Ziva’s fitness was paying a heavy price. Taking Ayaka’s hand, the girls pressed on with the shots, Ziva missed the hoop, but she enjoyed the time, with Ayaka, in particular, catching her breath and listening to the busker and her guitar.

Rylan: A Love to last the ages

A few weeks after giving birth, Emilie was itching to get some alone time as Eliza clung on, her mother’s blonde hair wrapped in needy fingers, and a hungry mouth, Emilie sat exhausted. She loved the smile, the wide-eyed curiosity, Eliza knew what she wanted and how to get the attention. Emilie could watch her sleep, knowing she would be walking, talking, time was an illusion, moments that would be fleeting, soon enough Eliza would be bounding through the door taking an adventure by herself. Eliza seemed in a rush to grow, Emilie had several onesies she would be quick to outgrow, funny her daughter was still so tiny.

Emilie, fed up of lazying in sweat pants borrowed from Rylan, eyed her wardrobe dreaming of the pre-pregnancy body. A garden pool, plus warm summer days meant plenty of time to reclaim her figure and unwind after nursing her crying newborn. The cool water soothed her aching breasts; the exercise helped her make the most of the sleep she could achieve.

Emilie’s swim session gave Rylan a chance to bond with his daughter; he held her awkwardly, arm’s extending, cringing at the nappy, and puffy red cheeks. Eliza screamed, impatient for him to deal with her messy problem. She wriggled, the contents leaked, Rylan jumped back frantic, wiping his hand, retching, how could such a small creature be so foul. He loved her when she slept; facial twitches that suggested dreams; Rylan would love to have shared in one.

Enlisting a babysitter, Rylan decided to treat Emilie to the bright city lights, and glamour of the fashion district. Petals covered the floor, benches await guests, a journey that begins under a flower-adorned arch, perfect for those in the romantic mood. Rylan spied the sakura tea, fountains of pink liquid, an aphrodisiac, heart beating faster, the flutter of lust for the girl on his arm. His wife sipped the tea, warm, fuzzy, bubbling, bursting into a giggle, for the first time in a while feeling like her old self. They settled on the picnic benches, Rylan gathered inspiration for his novel, watching others succumb to the pleasures induced by the tea. A woman with multicoloured hair spoke loving poems to the roses blossoming. Emilie imagined Rylan writing small spin-offs within the book, as though his lead character could see deeper; the incidental lives of people passing through.

An older gentleman, white tunic with gold thread stood waiting beneath silk curtains cascading, catching the light as they caught the breeze. In Rylan, the Guru saw a conflicting destiny, wealth, fame, these were the desirables, at odds with the family Rylan had supporting him. A wife and daughter, filled with promise, if Rylan continued down his current path, he would live without that love, he needed to decide which was worth living.

His eyes drifted over Emilie, a reading dependant on Rylan, placing her hand in that of her husband. She had married a man who could give her everything she was dreaming of, one that would last a lifetime, Emilie’s part was to remind him of this, loud and constant.