Canvas Garden
The night sky felt low and heavy, draped in black clouds that devoured moonlight.
Below it, a forsaken corner of the world murmured in mute stillness — a garden long since neglected by time.
The iron gate, rusty and ajar, opened into a directionless maze of encroaching weeds.
The once-vibrant flowers had shriveled into the brittle ghosts of color, and the stone benches were stained with rain and regret. Time was trying to take everything back, ivy curling around it all.
Enrique stood right at the edge of the tall trees that surrounded the edge of the garden. The air was cool and smelled like damp earth and decay, but he felt a strange peace here — unspoken solace.
Unlike the polished stadiums or the crowded fields where he played soccer, this spot asked nothing of him. It didn't ask for applause.
It didn't judge.
It was his sanctuary.
A place where silence didn't mean emptiness, but serenity.
Where he could breathe.
Raised in a house where expectations were wound like a tight noose, Enrique had learned early on to say little and shoulder the burden.
His parents valued image, status, perfection above all. His life belonged to no one — strings pulled him like a puppet, nobody cared if he fell.
Except for soccer.
That was the only thing that felt right. The only thing he chose.
Tonight, as every night, he came to sit, to think, to get away.
But something shifted, as he was about to walk away.
A figure.
He froze.
There — by the river, at the far edge of the garden — was someone. A silhouette, unmoving, outlined against the silent water that shimmered slightly inky black in the darkness.
His heart skipped.
No one else ever comes here.
It had always been only him.
But now…
He walked forward carefully, leaves crunching under his shoes. The figure didn't move. The closer he came, the better defined the shape.
A woman.
Standing too close to the river's edge. Almost haunting.
He panicked slightly. Was she going to do something dangerous?
He could tell that from eeriness she was giving away.
"Miss?" he called out.
No response.
"Step away… it could be dangerous," he called out, now more loudly.
Still nothing.
"Are you—"
"Nice to meet you too," said the unmoving figure.
Soft. Measured. Familiar.
It stopped him in his tracks.
She spun slowly and under the faint light of a far lamppost outside the fence, her face appeared.
Suzzanne.
He blinked.
"Suzzanne?" The name fell from his lips like a breath.
"Hey there," she greeted, Dressed a sleek black suit.
Her dark hair—straight and long—fell down her back like a velvet drape. Her face serene, nearly inscrutable, as if she had been waiting for him.
Now they sat across from each other on a stone bench — silent observers of the still river before them.
"What are you doing here?" Enrique asked, eyes fixed forward.
"Wanted some peace," Suzzanne replied, her voice as smooth as the winds.
Silence.
"It's nice to see someone else here... besides myself," he murmured.
Silence .
The silence stretched, both sat in beside each other, both in there own thoughts.
Enrique's mind was at work about what should he do next, he was confused....maybe or was he uneasy with her presence....?
"Is it your first time coming here? I have been coming here for almost two years and have never seen anyone or you here before..."
He finally took the iniative and asks, waiting for her answer.
She turned her head slightly. "I was always here,"
That's the answer Enrique got.
This made him turn his head to look at her already looking eyes at him.
Eye to eye, facing each other, looking into each other's.
Searching for anything that could giveaway Enrique something so he could read her or get her what she meant.
And-
After a dreadful silence-
Suzzanne's lips gave a small almost invisible stretch, "I have been coming here since I was eight."
That made him surprised, confused at the same time.
His eyes still onto her, not leaving her and for the first time, he saw something behind those eyes—something fragile, something buried beneath.
He wanted to dive in deep but she had already moved her gaze to the front, looking into the dark river.
Enrique furrowed his brow, processing Suzzanne's words.
"Eight years?" he said again, voice equal parts disbelief and curiosity. "That's... a long time."
She nodded, her face unreadable.
There was just something about her — something in the way she said it — that awakened something inside of him.
There was palpable tension pressing down upon him, a shift in the air that made his chest tighten.
"Then why have I never seen you here before?" He couldn't help himself but ask more, because he still didn't get it.
The question came out, precise and raw, as though she had the answer to a mystery he hadn't even realized existed.
She kept her eyes on the river — dark, and rippling just enough in the cool wind.
She continued to stare into the dark river where the surface rippled slightly in a cool breeze, as if it were holding the secrets of its own. She did not move, nor did she say anything, her hands clasped together in her lap, an image of serene meditation that was holding her in position.
Enrique sat waiting, waiting for her answer or anything she would give him.
His heart beating a little too faster than it should.
That was what happened in the locker room the other day, her presence was something he couldn't shake off, there was something that was pulling him toward her, wanting to find more little by little about her.
He doesn't know if she was holding some kind of power like a puppet pulling his strings or was he just loosing his control over himself.
It was not until she finally spoke that made him snap out his overwhelming thoughts.
Her voice was quiet, soft like she was whispering a secret.
"I've always been here. Maybe just… not wanting to be seen."
Again.
It seemed like her words were meant for something else. Something too arcane, too poetic. If not into poetic language you almost wouldn't get it.
He could understand it, but not entirely. There was something beyond those words, something he couldn't get a hold of.
"What does that mean?" His voice was nearly soft, as though he was afraid of shattering the delicate silence surrounding them.
She didn't respond.
Those dark unreadable eyes slowly turned to him and for just a split second it felt like she could see straight through him, could bare him right at the moment.
Enrique's breath hitched.
"What does it mean?" he repeated, in a voice just nearly above a whisper.
He couldn't look away. Couldn't move.
As if she was holding him in a position, waiting for her command to do his next move.
A small smile tugged at the corners of Suzzanne's lips. Her gaze never wavering as she studied him for an extended minute.
She then stood up, in a smooth movement, and steps few paces away from him, now her back facing him. Enrique remained seated on rhe wooden bench, his mind a whirl of confusion and rapture.
"It means the garden has its ghosts. And not everyone wants to be found." She said
Enrique's eyes never left her, followed every movement she made.
She then turns to him with a small smile still at her lips, and Enrique couldn't help but notice how the moonlight complemented her beauty.
And without another word she was seen walking toward the exit.
Leaving Enrique still in his spot confused and curious about herself.
Next Morning
Morning rays sliced through the glass walls of Gutierrez Corporation and cut sharp lines across the long, polished table of its conference room. There was something gleaming and ordered about the space — minimal, elegant, sterile. As is the woman who sits at its head.
Suzzanne Gutierrez sat ready in her seat, the tailored black suit that outlined her frame with sharp sophistication. Her long, straight black hair hung neatly down her back, and her dark eyes — unreadable and icy —
She hadn't said a word.
Not yet.
Across her sat a man in his early forties slouched comfortably in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and assurance radiating from every pore. The name was Mr. Callum Reeve, and arrogance wilted from that smirk that tugged up at his lips.
"I know quite a lot about you," he drawled, lazily tapping his finger on the file before him. "They say you're commanding Decisive. Visionary. Pragmatic."
A pause.
He leaned his head and continued with a self-satisfied chuckle, "You are very much prettier than they say, but not nearly so clever as you think."
He smiled smugly at his own wit, as if the insult were a sophisticated come-on rather than an official calculated blow. His tone was nonchalant, but his eyes shone with challenge.
Suzzanne's newly appointed assistant, Felix, stiffened behind her. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, watching closely but not knowing if he should intervene.
He had never witnessed anyone speak to her like that. Not without consequence.
Still, Suzzanne didn't blink.
She reclined in her chair, crossing one leg over another. Her eyes raked him not with offense — but clinical detachment, as if she were a surgeon studying a specimen.
Then she spoke, her voice steady but with an edge of poison.
"Mr. Reeve…" she said, her lips scarcely parting. "Is insulting women in business meetings a standard tactic you use to make up for your poor negotiation skills — or is today something special?"
The smile fell off his face, faltering.
"I don't enter rooms to impress men who fall back on outdated arrogance and average intelligence. You're not here because I need you. You're here because I am allowing you."
Reeve's posture changed almost immediately. He straightened his posture, hands now gripping the arms of the chair. That stung more than he thought it would.
"You came in here playing smart. But there is a difference between confidence and overestimation."
She inclined forward a bit, her eyes as sharp as glass.
"For your sake, unfortunately, I know both."
As she spoke, her voice didn't rose nor did it back down.
Her voice was calm, serene, and devoid of the frantic energy.
A stunned silence descended over the room. Even the ticking of the wall clock seemed to quiet.
Felix swallowed slowly, eyes looking straight at the scene unfolding infront.
Mr. Reeve opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
He cleared his throat, trying to get the hold of the conversation, and then wrenched out a short laugh — brittle, awkward.
"I—perhaps we started off on the wrong foot," he muttered.
"No," Suzzanne responded coolly, already shutting the file on her desk. "You just misjudged the room. And me."
She rose from her seat, slow and unhurried.
As she walked toward the exit, Felix instinctively moved out of her way.
"Meeting's over," she said.
She left the room without looking back at Reeve, her heels tapping on the marble floor, the scent of sharp perfume following like a closing curtain.
Felix smiled politely at the rattled man, it was more pity than professional, but then he knew he had it coming.
Author's Note:
Thankyou for reading<3
Have a Good Day/Night<3<3