He should have known better than to trust his sister the moment she requested his presence for brunch down at Fifth Avenue, where the initially pleasant exchange of high-society gossip over glasses of crisp Mimosa and plates of Truffle Eggs Benedict had swiftly devolved into Candice whining and begging him to accompany her to the Chanel boutique, a detour that predictably spiraled into them also ducking into Bergdorf Goodman, and then Saks Fifth Avenue. Throughout the entirety of the excursion, she had offered a continuous, high-pitched monologue about how he desperately needed to elevate his personal brand, all while utilizing him as a pack mule to cart her ever-growing collection of shopping bags through the overcrowded, vaguely malodorous grid of midtown Manhattan like a madman. It was not that he lacked affection for Candice---------- indeed, it was precisely because he loved her that her petulant pleading worked on him so effortlessly in the first place--------- but New York City remained entirely antithetical to his ideal existence, which leaned far more toward the peaceful, slow-motion grace of a sun-dappled birch forest overlooking a glassy fjord in Sweden, or the sweeping golden serenity of a Franschhoek vineyard framed by purple mountains in South Africa. His father, however, refused to entertain even a whisper of such pastoral inclinations whenever Simon attempted to wriggle out of assuming his predestined role within their multi-billion-dollar tech empire. In truth, Simon would have infinitely preferred to attach himself to a scrappy tech startup where he could genuinely flex his programming skills and collaborate with peers who did not instinctively kiss his ass simply because of the prestigious syllables of his last name. Yet, for all his quiet rebellion, Simon remained fundamentally defenseless against the emotional machinery of his household; his father merely had to fix him with those piercing, critical eyes for Simon to relent entirely, prioritizing the duty of being a compliant son over the chaotic fallout of triggering another monumental domestic incident.
Yielding to that familiar capitulation, Simon shoved the accumulated pile of Candice's luxury purchases into the trunk of the car as she slid into the leather interior from the opposite side, throwing her a judgmental look as he pondered why on earth she insisted he required a diamond link chain from Gucci when he knew with absolute certainty he would look gaudy and ridiculous wearing it. As he straightened up, however, his gaze caught the back of a head sporting long, silky black hair paired with a beautifully rich, velvet skin tone, an instantaneous visual that hit him with the sudden conviction that he recognized this woman, for even from a single glance, she seemed to stand out with singular clarity rather than melt into the endless sea of millions of passing faces. The harshened pace of the city seemed to suspend itself in that exact moment, his thoughts violently pulling backward into his youth, where there had been a girl with younger features but an otherwise identical, striking presence. "Tweety?" he murmured, bright blue eyes tracking her as she disappeared into a boutique across the avenue, and he only distantly registered Candice demanding to know what the hell he was talking about before he promptly slammed the car door shut and abandoned her entirely. His sudden sprint nearly resulted in him being leveled by a yellow taxi, but he charged recklessly through the oncoming traffic and rushed into the store after her, possessing absolutely no idea what he would say but desperately hoping the right words would manifest the moment he caught up to her, assuming it really was her. "Tweety?" he called out again, this time injecting a shred more confidence and resonant bass into his tone once he had closed the distance enough for her to hear, his breathing slightly shallow from the abrupt exertion of sprinting and dodging erratic vehicles on his way inside. A genuine smile broke across his face the moment she finally turned around to face him, his dimples cutting into his cheeks as he spoke. "It's me, Simon. Remember?" It had been an age since their shared days at boarding school, a period during which he had been far from popular, making it impossible for him to ever forget the one person who had actually treated him like a human being; she had been an extraordinary friend to him, though he had never quite unraveled the mystery of why she had suddenly vanished into thin air one afternoon and never made an attempt to contact him again.
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