The night had passed without his participation.
Zac sat on the end of the long dining table, stirring the last drops of his wine as the polite laughter that surrounded him buzzed. Conversations were lighting up from behind the crystal glasses and an expensive cutlery and the clinking of forks on porcelain was forming a subtle rhythm under the chit-chat.
He should have been feeling proud. Present. Being in this familial moment.
But nevertheless, Zac felt like an apparition in his own house.
He looked at the other side of the table. His mother was beaming with charm towards the visitors, the pearl necklace was reflecting the light from the chandelier. Trixy was cuddling Zyron with her head as she was gently rubbing her tummy. Xavier had presumably run to their father to shoot some boring talk about his investments that he is going to be uninterested of.
And what about Zac?
There he was, still thinking whether he should take out that present from his bag or just let it lie like an unremembered thought.
In fact, he did not know whether he was supposed to be there or not It might have been that he just wanted to see how it would feel this time.
Spoiler: it didn't.
Then the doors opened.
A butler stepped into the room, walking silently and expertly toward Mr. Kyle. He leaned over and said something in Mr. Kyle's ear. There was a brief nod from Zac's father, and then he stood up and raised his glass a little, greeting the room.
"Excuse me, everyone," he said using that strong, clear tone. "A very important visitor is here."
The whole vibe changed. People straightened up, servers discreetly aligned glasses and a wave of attention spread through the room, murmuring like ripples on water.
Just at the moment when the guest entered, Zac looked toward the door.
The guest was an early fifties man—who was refined, sharp, and somehow familiar as if of old wealth—that was, he came in beaming confidently.
A young woman accompanied him.
Tall. Poised. Refined.
She was wearing a soft champagne dress that caught the light and that was flowing like silk as she was walking. Her long, dark hair was cascading over her shoulders, and her face was unreadable—polite, distant, and calm.
However Zac felt as if his chest was being squeezed.
Slowly his fingers wrapped around his glass.
With the way she carried herself. Her very slight smile that seemed to hide more than it revealed. That smile—where gaze and it didn't quite match. And when her eyes scanned the room and found his, he felt as if a coldness was creeping down his spine.
Not terror. Nor recognition. But rather an odd, heavy familiarity.
As if it were a memory that did not want to remain buried.
"Everyone," said Mr. Kyle proudly, "Let me acquaint you with Mr. Rasil, one of our company's biggest investors—and his daughter, Cristelle."
Cristelle.
She made a small bow. Courteous. Rehearsed.
"I'm very glad to be here tonight," she said softly.
Her voice itself was making Zac freeze.
No. It's not her.
Crisia is no more and this is not— But his stomach wrenched anyway.
Rather than looking directly at him, Cristelle's stare darted past him swiftly as though he were invisible. Zac, however, could not tear his eyes off her.
Cristelle quickly glanced at him as if he were nothing. But Zac was not able to do the same with his eyes; he kept looking at her.
Trixy leaned over and whispered, "She's lovely, isn't she?"
Zac was taken aback and silently agreed.
Xavier laughed, "It seems like Dad's not only aiming at a business deal but also at a love match."
Nicole grinned, "That's just Mr. Kyle's style."
Cristelle with her father were escorted to the head of the table, where two seats had been vacated. Zac saw that from her position, Cristelle had an unobstructed view of him, yet she was not looking at him.
Not once.
Mr. Rasil was starting to talk to Zac's parents. They were served wine again. Plates replaced. Conversations returned.
But Zac was not able to concentrate on any of this.
He looked at his plate that was still untouched.
His thoughts had already vacated the room.
---
Later on that night, Zac at the open balcony with a flute of champagne he was not planning to drink stood away from the noise. The cold air was touching his face but his chest was still burning and tight.
He had not noticed someone had come in to join him until a gentle voice spoke to him.
"The sky is much clearer here than in the city."
Zac looked.
Cristelle was standing next to him, looking out, not at him.
"Yes," he said after a moment. "There are less lights so more stars are visible."
She nodded. "Do you like looking at them?"
Zac looked at her side. "Actually, I'm learning astrology."
Cristelle then turned to Zac, her face showing curiosity. "Really? Then you must be quite familiar with the stars, astronomers."
"I know more than I want to, some days," he joked.
She replied, "I find stars very fascinating for that very reason. That people choose to see the universe as being decorated with patterns."
Zac was confused. "It is exactly what it is—searching for a reason."
She looked at him for a moment.
Then, in a soft voice, Cristelle said, "Do you think people create the same patterns with memories?"
Zac's breath caught.
What are you trying to say?
Do you know who I think you are?
Are you playing with me—or are you really just Cristelle?
But instead of saying that, he only said, "Sometimes. However, memories do not always let you decide the meaning."
Cristelle smiled again but this time it wasn't as bright as before.
"Intriguing," she said. After that, she bowed her head a little. "I really enjoyed our conversation, Zac."
She stayed with him that weird feeling of déjà vu clawing at his brain.
---
Back inside Mr. Kyle was making a toast. Everyone lifted their glasses with big smiles across the room.
Except for Zac.
Zac was still looking at Cristelle and
thinking if tonight could be the beginning of something new—
—or the comeback of something old.
---
After the toast, the room was filled with laughter again though Zac barely heard it. He sat with his hands clenched in his lap, biting his nails deeply into his palms. The manner in which Cristelle had been looking at him on the balcony—serene, purposeful—kept replaying in his head like an incomplete phrase.
He reminisced about Crisia. Her laughter that could cut like a knife. The eerie gaze she had just before disaster struck. The memory of her inflicted a stinging pain on him as if salt was being poured into a fresh wound. And nonetheless, Cristelle being here tonight was like an ambush of that wound all over again to him.
On the opposite side of the table, Cristelle was bent over her father's shoulder, sympathetically listening as he spoke with Mr. Kyle about mergers and future projects. She was a picture of absolute propriety, her smile was controlled, her glance tender. However, to Zac, every look, every barely perceptible tilt of her head meant something. A nonverbal closeness that he could not get rid of.
He once again left the scene briefly and went off to the more peaceful part of the house where the portraits were along the hallway. In front of one—an old painting of his grandmother—he stood and pondered if she would probably understand him more than his parents.
He heard footsteps behind him. Soft, careful.
"Running away?" Cristelle's voice.
Zac turned a little and tensed up. "Not exactly… just going for a breath of fresh air."
Her eyes quickly glanced at the portraits. "Your family cherishes traditions i.e. heritage. It is apparent in every picture here."
"Legacy," Zac half-said. "Or shackles."
Listening with interest, Cristelle put it together that he was not of the opinion that he wanted to be a part of it and she said, "You don't sound like someone who wants to be part of it."
"Maybe I don't."
There was a long pause between them. Finally, and almost inaudibly, Cristelle said, "Sometimes the things we least want to inherit… still follow us."
Zac was pierced through and through by her words and the way she said it—it was not idle talk. Rather it was a warning. Or perhaps a confession.
He could not resist the urge and to ask her then and there who she really was. But the words did not come out, they stuck in his throat.
Instead, with another smile, Cristelle walked back into the light. "Enjoy your evening, Zac."
And in that manner, she was no more.
---
The remainder of the night was a fog in his mind. Speeches, glasses being raised, laughter—were all muted, and far away. Zac was like one looking at it all through a window. His mind drifted with every glance that she cast at someone else. Every one of those laughs that sounded a little too familiar. Every sentence that reminded him of the past like a ghost that had just appeared.
When the last of the guests started to go, Zac still stood near the stairs with his bag full of the gift that he hadn't touched. He saw Cristelle walking elegantly beside her father, thanking Mr. Kyle for the evening. She looked at Zac once—quick, incomprehensible.
Right away, she was no longer there.
The silence of the mansion slowly made its way back, as it were a curtain going down after a play.
Zac, worn out, leaned against the railing. He had gotten there to make peace, to have another try with his family. But instead, he left with questions that were heavier than any present box.
Was Cristelle simply the daughter of a wealthy man who put money into a project?
Or was she the reincarnation of something he thought was buried?
An
d if that was the case... what would it mean for him, for Januz, for all the things he had broken down to start over?
The night didn't provide him with any answers.
It had only eyes that saw.