Lost as a Snowflake in the Sea

    Spain x Female Reader

    “We meet again,” the man said in an accent you couldn't quite place and a voice that was strangely familiar to your ears. He gave you a genuine smile and looked at you as if you were someone he hadn't seen for years. But you didn't know him, not even his name. All you knew about him was that he liked to be at the park every Tuesday.

 

    Whenever he was there, he strung his guitar to a melancholy tune, but he never sang—or talked. The sun always seemed to be happy and shining on everyone, but this man always played the opposite on his guitar. Still, it never ruined the day. In fact, it made it so relaxing. The way he played and the way the wind danced along with the tune—it was so peaceful.

 

    You’ve passed by him so many times that you've memorized his handsome face. And every Tuesday afternoon, for almost a year now since you'd moved into the neighborhood, you sat nearby, just close enough to hear him playing.

 

    But that was just that. He was just a handsome, tanned man with brown hair and soft green eyes who played his guitar at the park every Tuesday; the stranger whose song you loved listening to.

 

    “I'm sorry, but who are you?” you asked in your most polite tone. You were passing by to go to the spot you always went to whenever he played his song when he'd suddenly stopped and spoke to you.

 

    His smile faltered and his shoulders sagged. “You still don't remember?”

 

    You shook your head and muttered an apology. You didn't know what he was talking about.

 

    “Oh,” he said and you knew by his tone that he was disappointed. Why would he be?

 

    His smile went back up. “Would you like to sit here?” He gestured to the space on the bench, next to him. You, for some reason, become eager and sat down. It wasn't until you'd sat down that your mind registered what you just did. You didn't even know him! And yet you were so eager to be by his side.

 

    He started playing that beautiful, melancholy song again. All this time he was playing, you noticed the distant look in his eyes, even when his smile was visible. Was that pain in his eyes? You wondered what happened that made him look like that.

 

    The song ended and he stopped playing. The park went still and silent that you could hear the wind whispering in your ears.

 

    You cleared your throat. “That's a very beautiful tune.”

 

    He looked at you. “Thank you.”

 

    It was silent again.

 

    “If you don't mind me asking, why do you always play it? I see you every Tuesday here, just playing your guitar.”

 

    “I'm trying to find someone with it,” he replied and turned to you. “Would you mind if I tell you a short story?”

 

    You shook your head “no.” You'd always loved it when someone told you stories. And by the look he had, it seemed like he needed to talk to someone about it.

 

    “This is the tune the girl I love always hummed. She's been lost for a long time. I play it on Tuesdays because that was the day I last saw her.” He was looking at you, but you didn't feel like he was really looking at you. It was as if he was having a memory, about the girl. The memory he was having must've been powerful enough to pull him out of reality. “I don't know where she is right now or if I'll ever find her again, but I play this song in hopes that she'll remember me. I play this song because I want to find her.”

 

    The distant look he had and the story he told inspired sorrow inside you. It was so heartbreaking. He'd been playing it every Tuesday for almost a year—or maybe it was more than a year—and he still didn't find her. You wondered if he ever would.

 

    Then, your head started hurting. It was like something snapped inside, and it hurt so badly. You clutched your head and yelped. The pain startled you that you stood up unconsciously. You noticed the man set his guitar down and stood up and talked to you in a concerned tone, but he disappeared as scenes began pouring into your mind. What were they? Were they memories?

 

    There were you and the green-eyed man, and everything felt real. You were lying down, and it didn't look like you were breathing. The man was crouched beside you and he had tears spilling from his eyes. He said something you couldn't understand; it sounded like it was in another language. Then, like he could feel your confusion, he repeated the words in the language you understood. And that was when everything became clear.

 

    They were, indeed, memories.

 

    Your sight cleared up. The sun was staring at you and it made your eyes hurt. You looked away from the blinding light and found the man's green eyes.

 

    “Are you alright?” he asked. The man was in front of you, and he was gently holding both your cheeks in his palms. His hands were so soft, just like you remembered.

 

    You smiled, your sight starting to blur from the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “I remember now. I remember everything,” you gasped out. “I remember you, Antonio.”

 

    Antonio's eyes widened and he pulled you into an embrace. It felt like it had been a hundred years since you'd both held each other.

 

    “I found you,” he whispered into your hair, “I finally found you.”

 

    The words he said from the memory replayed in your mind. He'd said, while he held your cold body, “If we can't have a happy end in this life, maybe we will in another.”

 

    As you sobbed and as Antonio held you, you could only thank the stars that what he said finally came true.