They meet on a spring day.

When pink cherry blossoms float beneath breathtakingly blue skies, and the effervescent winds place kiss upon kiss on the fluffy cheeks of milky clouds.

Underneath the cherry tree, a lazy finger plucks the guzheng strings.

A sound.

It echoes and echoes and echoes, across the air, attention-grabbing.

A slosh of wine, pure and clear like water from Heaven itself, curves gracefully into a stunning parabole, into a jade cup. Its smell - the aroma of wisteria and the greenest of tea, lingers and wafts. Awaken the senses. Like a bolt of fragrance amidst the scent of cherry blossoms. Impossible to ignore.

A pale hand grasps the cup. Ever so slightly, it raises the cup in the air. Deep inhales. Satisfaction. Appreciation of excellent wine.

A gulp. A taste.

The wine, smooth and gentle, slides down the throat, settles warmly into the stomach, leaving fizzy sizzles behind.

A drop clings on to blood red lips.

A tongue flicks at it. Swallowing the drop. Disappears.

Lips, cherry-blossoms pink made red with wine.

Lips, soft and supple, as if inviting to be kissed. For someone to place a caress, light as the wings of butterflies. Ephemeral.

They curve ever so slightly, the pleasure at tasting good wine.

A barely-there smile that bewitches even the most saintly. One that will make men crumble to their feet in blind submission.

The smile that topples cities and ravages nations.

Ping.

Another sound.

The person moves.

Rivers and rivers of dark black hair that flutters in the wind, the interwoven bells chime, and chime.

Another space.

Another time.

Ethereal.

Red garments.

Like a slash of fire that blazes across pastel shades of pinks and blues. A stand-out amongst Eden. Like lightning that flashes across the eyes.

They move.

White, flawless hands open an equally white fan.

Black locks, soft as the finest satin, create a halo, surrounding endless garnet at the silhouette moves and twirls and spins to an unknown melody.

Like the gentle hustling of spring that denotes the rejuvenating of Life, like the trailblazing passion of summer that boasts youth and freedom, like the warm, supple embrace of autumn that cocoons and nurtures, and like the icy breath of winter that signals the end of a cycle and the restlessness for a new one to start.

Like a melody, pianissimo at first, that ascends and opens up, to a feverish fortissimo. To a breathless intensity.

Then all of a sudden,

They stop.

A complete halt.

Silence.

Eyes, golden like the most beautiful topaz, crinkled in to crescents of the moons. Warm and watery. Gazes into the soul. Enraptures. Hypnotizes.

Stunning.

Peals of laughter, like the most precious of pearls that tinkle on a priceless tray, spreads across the air.

Breaks the silence.

Like wind chimes.

The dance resumes.

Not so far away, among the greens and across the cherry blossom tree, a man stands still and watches. Black eyes open wide, taking everything of the scene in. Enraptured.

White sleeves and black hair flutter in the wind.

Thump...thump...thump....

The sound of a heartbeat.

Of a heart that beats.

Of blood that thrums.

Of fate.

Of the day, when, under the wide, wide ciel blue, beneath the soft, soft cherry pink, a dash of red steals his soul.