When I was seven, I fell on my right knee while chasing a cat.

I was taking the short bus trip back home from school as I usually did, but I stepped off at a different stop solely because I’d seen a cat run across the road, nearly hit by the bus.

For a good minute, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I did not recognize the area, though I did recognize something—

This was the rich place my mom and grandma would sometimes talk about.

Now during my confusion, I had no idea where to go. The cat ran into the brush, but I didn’t know if I could fit myself into the slim hedges he’d concealed himself in.

That was when I did my best to try and do just that, which eventually led to me falling into a very large drop-off that I had no idea existed behind the greenery.

Of course I wept very loudly.

What little kid wouldn’t?

I felt frightened, alone, in a place I didn’t know very well, and all because I wanted to help a poor stray kitten. Grandma would be proud, I thought at the time, though that didn’t help the lonely feeling in my seven-year-old little heart.

It must’ve gone by like that for a whole ten minutes—simply crying over a knee that was now bloodied, since I’d scraped it on a rock on my way down the man-made canyon I’d gotten myself into.

And it would’ve gone on like that, had it not been for the little boy that came at the sound of my cries.

I was shocked, honestly, since I did not expect to see anyone, much less someone my own age coming to my aid.

I guess you could say I began crying tears of joy, so much that I embraced the young boy, not noticing how bewildered he was by my comfortable affection.

He looked at me then, confusion written all over his expression. “Are you okay?” He asked me, sounding extremely concerned.

Shakily, I shook my head at him. I could feel my eyes and nose drip.

The boy patted my back awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to do with me. I could remember how skinny he was, and tall. “I thought your crying was a cat at first.” He admitted.

I wondered if he was attempting to amuse me, so I stopped my hiccuping and tried responding to him, “I—I got l-lost and t-then—”

He watched me intently. I recalled how blue his eyes were, striking, almost grey, like a cat. I was momentarily amazed by him, but more so in what he was wearing as well.

The child had on a black suit with shiny loafers and a silk scarf tied around his neck. His brown hair had been pushed back with gel, very formal.

“Your knee . . .” He said to me, disrupting my staring. The boy took the scarf from his neck and placed it beneath my knee, wrapping it carefully.

I tried stopping him, though I could only wince at the pain.

He looked at me, watching to see if I would start crying again. “Please don’t cry. I want to help you.”

I wiped my eyes beneath my round glasses. “T-thank y-you.”

“Can you get up?” He asked.

No. I could not get up. Even when he helped me, I still felt lost. Like I’d mentioned previously, I never travelled anywhere, and nor did I ever transfer schools. This was the first time I’d gotten lost.

The sight of the boy did uplift my spirits somewhat, but what could that do to help me get back home?

Despite the boy’s hesitance, I took his hand, breathing at the touch of warmth. Even back then at seven years old, I was not afraid of physical contact. The boy though, grew stiff.

“Please, w-wait here w-with me . . .” My eyes began to water again. The pain was still there in my knee, stinging, but the bleeding had stopped with his scarf.

The boy’s eyes widened, and then he stared at our hands. He didn’t say anything.

At that moment, I understood his silence as an answer, ‘Yes. I’ll stay with you.’

He let me sit there for quite some time, quietly weeping until the tears started to turn dry. I could feel my face heat up from embarrassment, knowing that I’d done such a foolish thing. Where did the cat go anyway?

I looked around, taking in the place I’d fallen into. It was actually remarkable.

Beyond the drop-off where we were sitting, the beginnings of a garden bloomed before us. A meadow of mass size blanketed the area, enveloping even the rocky terrain in blooms of wild flowers, particularly white ones.

The boy was studying me the entire time, reading me, as if I were a new species he’d just discovered. I never knew anyone who looked at me that way.

He turned then, extending a long arm out to the flowerbed. “These are my favorite.” He told me, taking one from the earth carefully.

It was a beautiful flower, with white bulbs and spiky green leaves.

“My mom’s favorite flower.” He showed it to me, “It’s supposed to make you happy.”

Hesitantly, I stared at it, but when he made the indication that he was giving it to me, I gladly accepted it. The boy was kind.

I wiped my face and breathed, twirling the flower slowly in my hands. “Thank you.” I said quietly, under my breath.

He looked away. “Just . . . please stop crying.”

Without saying anything, I nodded.

The boy returned to squeezing my hand gently as I gradually recovered from my shock. We were too young and small then to realize that I hadn’t gone through a very major incident. I’d merely fallen and gotten my knee hurt. But back then it felt so momentous, I couldn’t help but recall the memory through dreams. The feeling of fear still remained, of being alone and vulnerable, but so did the feeling of reassurance.

It was the first time I’d gotten lost.

I sniffled once more and watched him. His eyes never left mine. I wondered why I was such a curiousity to him. He looked more like someone out of a book than I did.

“Thank you.” I told him, this time a bit louder and more confidently.

He took his hand away from mine quickly. “Y-you’re welcome.” He replied.

I felt a sort of absence when he let go. It was then that I noticed how much I wanted to see my grandmother and mom, to have a sense of familiarity with someone. But this—this was okay as well.

So in my vulnerable state, I clambered over the rocky earth to give him a hug. I wrapped my shaky arms around the boy and I let the tears fall from my face freely. Only then did I feel like myself again, and not alone.

I felt grateful towards him, like I’d made a new friend. I also found it fortunate that he came out of nowhere to help me. Just where did he come from?

My mind at the time didn’t care much over where he’d come. I mostly thought about how great it was that I’d met someone new, and how terrible it all was that I’d hurt myself this badly.

Mom would definitely scold me later for being late and wandering off.

I hugged the boy a little tighter at that thought, and was surprised when he did the same, because moments ago he was simply sitting there, arms at his sides.

His fingers squeezed my shoulders reassuringly. I breathed.

A friend.

I’d made a new friend.

I awoke with a start.

I’d had that dream.

It wasn’t exactly considered a nightmare, but it wasn’t considered a good dream either.

Mostly because I never saw that kid again, and also because that fall really, really did hurt at the time. I did get scolded too. That was never fun.

But like I said, I never saw that child ever again. All I could remember was how he helped me out of that small canyon and back to the bus stop.

I didn’t even remember looking back and thanking him.

That was long ago though, and nothing to dwell over. So why did I have to dream of it repeatedly sometimes?

Maybe it was symbolic in some way. Like, maybe there was a meaning behind it. But then again it probably meant nothing.

It was a moment in my life when I’d met a kind soul, a nice boy who helped me out when I was in need.

That’s all it was.

Sitting across from my mom at the grand kitchen of the mansion, I stirred my hot coco and listened to the sounds of cooking. In my peripheral vision, I could see people scattering, attending to their duties.

I’d woken up not too long ago, and I’d made my way here, running across my mother of all people. I was glad to see her, though I didn’t feel like relying any news to her about . . . Lucas.

So instead, I told her about the dream I’d had.

She pursed her lips. “The same dream?”

My mother was well aware of it. I’d told her countless times. She was the one who scolded me that day, so she remembered it clearly.

I nodded. “I feel bad for never seeing him again.”

My mom pushed a dish of sweet bread towards me. I took one with glee. “Where was that bus stop anyway? Anywhere near here?”

I shrugged. I really didn’t know.

“Well, he was a rich boy.” She took a bread of her own. “That scarf was . . . expensive, until you got your blood all over it.”

“It wasn’t my fault.” I whined.

She raised a brow. “Who was the one that got lost and fell?”

I slumped. She was right.

“And you broke my employer’s expensive dish.” She reminded me. “You’re too clumsy.”

“And who did I get that from?” I tested her, raising my own brow.

My mom pointed her bread at me, “Your father.”

I gave up.

We continued on like that for what must’ve been an hour, talking. Apparently, the conversation I’d had with the owners of this mansion became staff gossip, though no one knew what had occurred besides master Lucas drastically changing his attitude right afterwards.

He hadn’t left his room, which, was a surprise to the employees here. The Madam too, was keeping to herself. It seemed as if the only person amid that conversation to interact with anyone outside was myself.

I tried to imagine what history they had together. Were they always fighting? Or was there a time when they were at peace?

They were certainly similar in many ways.

I sipped the remnants of my coco, not noticing how mom was eyeing me.

She leaned forward to get a better look at me. “Do you . . . remember how that boy looked like?”

“The one from my dream?” I asked.

“Yes.” She brought a napkin to my face, wiping away whatever chocolate I didn’t drink.

“Well . . .” I thought for a moment. I didn’t know if I could remember all of that exactly. I was only seven. My memory was fuzzy even when I was twelve.

But then again it was a dream I’d had countless times. I could recall him if I tried.

“He was taller than me, and skinny.” I told her, thinking. “He had dark brown hair and blue eyes,” I stopped and then added, “Or were they more silver and grey?”

“Was his hair curly?” She asked.

I answered uncertainly, “It wasn’t really curly but—maybe wavy? And he had on a really nice black suit.”

Mom pondered at my description of him. She’d worked in countless homes around the area, so she probably knew who the kid must’ve belonged to. If only I remembered which house I came across. It would’ve made it easier to narrow down our search.

She pushed her plate away after giving it some thought. Her expression was hard to read. I didn’t bother making her more confused, so I kept to myself.

The kitchen was vibrant, very old-fashioned and big, with high ceilings, large windows that bled in natural light, and copper antique appliances that shined in the sun. A large wooden table ran across the center of it, perfect for the bakers who were currently kneading dough atop it.

“You’ve seen Lucas . . . right?” She asked me.

I hesitated when she mentioned his name.

“I guess you have.” She continued, noticing my reaction. “I could be wrong but—well . . .”

“He was difficult.” I said. “There’s nothing I can’t do though, mom.”

She bit her lip, unsure about something. “That’s not what I was referring to.”

I tilted my head at her.

What else could she be talking about?

Before I could ask her, I noticed the time. A vintage, embellished clock hung above the large stove, ticking on as the people below continued to work.

Early in the morning, Mr. Rangel informed me that the Madam wanted to have tea with me in the garden. According to him, we were to have a ‘private chat’.

I had no idea what that meant. But if it was about our meeting yesterday then . . . I was gladly ready to apologize for blowing up, even though I knew Lucas would never do such a thing. I needed to be the bigger person.

Also, I wanted to ask her some questions I could not ask through our previous meetings—questions that, for the most part, needed to be answered.

Mom was looking off into the distance, clearly thinking about something.

“What?” I asked.

She sighed. “Nothing, for now.”

I didn’t pester her further.

When mom had something on her mind, it most likely meant that it was important, and that I was too in my head to figure it out myself.

I would have to wait. So in the meantime, tea would have to do.