It was one of those days when it felt like you were sleeping while you were walking, or you were walking in your sleep. It was like living in a dream.

The late afternoon sun was bright and clear, making everything seem as if it were being seen through a golden film. There was the slightest hint of a breeze, just enough to cool the air, which was pleasantly warm, but not so strong as to stir a leaf.

It was a day when you could almost fall in love.

Outside, the trees were vividly green, the bougainvilleas a shocking pink. The silence was so strong that it felt as if you could hear a butterfly beat its wings and all the sounds were sharp and clear and even your footsteps could sound like music in your ears. The dark asphalt seemed to shine; even the papers and posters plastered on the walls seemed less disorganized, though they were as numerous as ever.

It was a day when you could die and not mind. Not mind at all.

She looked around and sat down at a stone bench near the sidewalk, watching the people pass her by. They even seemed to walk in slow motion and motes of dust floated around with some drifting fluffy acacia seeds in that same languorous pace. Nothing now seemed real. Everything was just suddenly too beautiful.

She glanced at the hand-carved wooden figure in her hand, a panther on the prowl, and looked at the cuts on her hands, earned while she had spent day after day on the little piece. It was her best work. Everyone had said so. There were those at the shop who had wanted it, no matter what the price, but it had not been for sale.

A pair of familiar shoes stopped on the ground before her and she blinked, looking up. Whoever it was had the sun behind his head so she had to shield her eyes.

The person moved and sat beside her and she saw the familiar face of her friend.

He stretched his long legs out ahead of him, his books on his lap. One of them had a bright red cover. “What happened?” he asked gently, perhaps noticing that she looked upset.

“Nothing,” she replied sullenly as a passing breeze – quite stronger than the others that day – shook the branches of the tree above them.

He picked a leaf out of her brown hair and smoothed her locks back behind her ear. “You still have it. Didn’t you give it to him?”

“He was busy.”

“Busy? And was it so important, you couldn’t interrupt him? It can’t have been that earthshaking,” he said mockingly.

Normally she would have defended Marcus, said he wasn’t as shallow as he seemed. “He... was with a girl.”

She instantly regretted saying that. His books spilled out of his lap as he got to his feet. He looked furious.

She grabbed his sleeve. “Please don’t do anything foolish. It’s all right. It was my fault. He never did say he wanted me.”

“Oh, no. He just flirted with you for weeks and weeks and monopolized all your time. Even I couldn’t see you. And now that he doesn’t need you to do all his homework for him, he dumps you.”

She buried her face in her hands. “No. I was just stupid. I made such a big deal out of things. It’s not his fault.”

He stared at the top of her head in frustration. He didn’t understand how she could think that bastard so perfect. It was crazy. After all he’d done, the filthy cad. He longed to wring his neck.

Someday, something’s going to happen to you, Brian, and you’ll see how it feels to be on the other side of your actions.

His anger cooled and he sat back down, wondering why it was that he remembered his brother’s words now. He had never been as awful as Marcus... He never used...

But then he was like Marcus. Only, while Marcus had used her to pass his tests, he used girls to find nothing more than pleasure: to look good and feel good. But it wasn’t like he was leading them on. They all understood what was going on.

He glanced at the one girl in the world he hadn’t hit on and realized that she was really quite beautiful and Marcus was just one unlucky and monumentally stupid clod if he couldn’t see that. Her tawny eyes were bright and intelligent and normally so full of life. “Listen, Webbie—”

“Don’t call me that.”

He paused. “My brother calls you that.”

“You’re not your brother.”

Oh, how true that is. For once, I wish I was him. He would know what to say. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“I hate that nickname.”

“Oh," he replied, somewhat relieved. And here he was, thinking it was some special thing. “Vicky, then. Listen. If he doesn’t adore you, then he’s an idiot.”

She smiled faintly, not taking him seriously. “That’s very sweet, Brian.”

“I mean it.”

She rolled her wooden panther in her hands before holding it up. “Do you like this?”

“It’s your best work.”

She pressed it into his hand. “Here. You take it.”

“But I—”

“I can’t stand to look at it anymore. If I take it home with me, I’ll just burn it.” She stood up. “Let’s go now, please?”

He blinked. She was already walking away so he picked up the rest of his things in a hurry. Up ahead, the university library loomed.

He looked up once, at the still leaves and the cloudless sky.

It was one of those days when you wished it would rain. Because inside your heart, the sun wasn’t really shining.