Undoubtedly on that day when the moon was fully blanketed by the heavy grey clouds, on the verge of letting out all the raindrops they've been stowing.

While it may be the 37th or the 38th nightlight to shower his face with the shadows of specks of dust that settled on the glass window right beside him, the man could care less about the paper on his hand nor the people whom he considers to be a poor excuse of a company inside the cramped space of a car.

Getting a letter from one's mother can be considered as a sweet gesture. Nonetheless, he highly doubted that this letter, written on the now scrunched up paper, telling him that he's out of his mind is one as such.

He diverted his gaze towards the moving scenery showing on the window as it came to a standstill by the entrance of a district, that does not show any sign of the liveliness dying down soon, even though it is half-past eleven. The gent hurriedly pressed the button to open the window of the back seat.

What welcomed him was the cigarette smoke that dominated the air, the nauseating smell of alcohol, gazes of the predators seeking their preys, and the prickling sensual tension. These things seemed to have instantly pacified his nerves that were on edge.

He was letting himself indulge in the drug-like sensation when his eyes fell onto a door, ajar, a few meters away. The door was wooden except it was in the colour of a deep blue that appeared to have faded over time. It was decorated with, as seen from a distance, a dream catcher with three yellow feathers, which was nothing out of the ordinary, but something was urging him to keep looking at it. Innocent curiosity? That may be it.

His mind rejoiced when the doorknob displayed a sign of movement. Although, he was quickly let down when already a minute passed by, and yet no one came out. He was perplexed, but then the door abruptly swung open and suddenly, he forgot to breathe.

That fleeting moment, when the flickering red lights of the signboard caressed her delicately dishevelled hair and pale skin, that seemed to outmatch the pure whiteness of snow, suffocated him. What met his gaze was those solemn yet downcast eburnean eyes, which turned into a beautiful alexandrite, seemingly changing hues once lights of differing colours reflected off of them.

And here he thought that he was the type of man who loathes even the slightest idea of prostrating himself to a different entity other than his own.

However, if the feeling of surrender is similar to this, he would gladly succumb to it, as long as the eternality of time would allow.

"Your beauty is as breathtaking when I first saw you, Leticia."