The Timeless Love.

A second Chance to Live. I can't believe that I am really dead, Irene cried out, she was in an endless abyss of nightmares, a deafening sound jolted her back to reality. She woke up panting and sweating profusely, she climbed down her bed and walked to her kitchen and grabbed some water, she gulped down a large amount down her throat like if she didn't, it'd disappear the next moment. She examined her surroundings, she found herself in a little apartment secluded in the busy city of Spain. Her paintings beautifully designed the walls. She graduated top of her class in art. She ran her hands through her mother's photograph, a beautiful white-haired woman with oceanic eyes, just like Irene's. She passed on decades ago in a ghastly car accident on her way to work. Irene knew better than believe it was coincidental... ...... I sauntered to the window, the cool breeze caressed my cheeks, its coldness stung my heart, for some reason I couldn't remember my past existence, whenever I tried to, it punished me with an unbearable migraine. The last I remember was being poisoned by a woman, whose face was completely a blur. Fate gave me a second chance to live but it came with a price, it erased my past life and its memories utterly. And what was left was a ghost of it. fate was so cruel as to erase everything but leave behind the memory of her death, how she was poisoned that night, how she coughed out blood and desperately gasped for breath, she walked to the double mirror where her vanity laid, she gazed at herself for a long time, like she had forgotten whom she was or what she truly looked like, Irene was an epitome of daintiness, it was as if an angel fell from heaven and decided to make earth her habitation, no one stared just once at her. She was truly a sight to behold..... Irene was a white haired woman with extreme pulchritude, her eyes were ocean blue, her heart pure, full of warmth and devoid of any evil, she was slim with a beautiful figure. ...... It was 13:05 when her phone rung. the caller was the HR to the most prestigious art company in Madrid, she had applied for months without getting a response, then finally the call came today. I was wowed that they eventually reached out to me, I picked the call and I burst out in excitement, I was asked to start the day after. I browsed through my wardrobe for something official to wear tomorrow and I found lots of pretty flowery dresses, just my type. After awhile, I sat on the balcony with my painting tools, and I immersed myself in drawing and painting after so long. She drew a garden of flowers with butterflies hovering around, that was her inspiration for the day. Irene knew how uneventful her life was at the moment, but she had no idea how tomorrow would be a mark to something anew. --- "The First Day" Madrid was grey that morning. The kind of grey that makes you check the sky twice. Irene stood in front of the mirror and smoothed her navy blouse for the fourth time. _Vanta Arts International. 8:30 AM. Don’t be late._ Three months of applications. Fourteen rejections. One call today that made her feel truly alive. She left at 7:40 on purpose. Coffee in one hand, folder in the other. CV. Portfolio. Letters. Proof that this life was going somewhere. The Vanta building was two blocks away. Glass and steel. The logo caught the light. That’s when the van jumped the curb. A delivery van swerved, clipped the edge of the crosswalk, and hit an old woman. A basket of oranges and tomatoes burst across the asphalt. Red and bright and loud. People stopped. Phones came out. “Did you see that?” “Someone call an ambulance.” And then they started walking again. Irene stopped. _8:27._ _HR said sharp. They said punctuality is part of the culture._ This is the only shot I have... The woman was on the ground. Maybe 70. Grey hair pinned up. A thin gold locket at her throat. She was breathing in short bursts, one hand pressed to her leg. Irene dropped her folder. Papers scattered. She didn’t pick them up. “Ma’am? Can you hear me?” she asked panicked. She knelt. Her trousers soaked through immediately. The woman’s eyes opened. Pain, then focus. “Birthday,” the woman whispered. “It’s my birthday today.” The word hit Irene like a bruise she couldn’t remember getting. Her chest went tight for no reason. “It’s okay,” Irene said, tearing her scarf and pressing it to the wound. “Help is coming. Stay with me.” Someone behind her sighed. “You’re going to lose your job, you know.” Irene didn’t look up. “Then I will.” The ambulance took 18 minutes. She counted them on her phone. 4% battery. She rode in the back holding the woman’s hand. The locket kept catching the fluorescent light. The woman kept squeezing her fingers and calling her “dear.” At Hospital La Paz it was forms and questions. “Are you family?” “No. I just found her.” “Sign here anyway.” Irene used her metro money for the deposit. She missed two calls from an unknown Madrid number. At 9:04 the voicemail came through. “Ms. Irene Morales? This is HR at Vanta Arts. We held the position until 8:45. We’ve moved forward with another candidate. We’ll keep your CV on file. Thank you.” On file.... Three months. Gone in twelve seconds. The woman’s daughter arrived at 11:20, crying and apologizing. Then a man in a suit walked in. Mid-40s. Vanta ID badge clipped to his pocket. “I’m Daniel Calderon,” he said. “Operations Manager at Vanta Arts.” He looked at Irene. At the blood on her scarf. At her ruined shoes. “HR called me. Traffic cams showed you were two blocks away at 8:25.” Irene braced for it. The lecture. The _you should have called_. Instead he pulled a card from his wallet and pressed it into her hand. Thick paper. Embossed. “When you’re ready, call me. Direct line.” His voice was quiet. “People who stop for strangers are the kind of people we need at Vanta. Even if you’re late.” Daniel Calderon. Operations Manager. Vanta Arts International. Irene stared at the card. She was late. She was jobless. But she had this. Outside, the sun had finally broken through. Her folder was wet in a gutter two blocks away. Her dream was delayed, not dead. She sat on a bench and let herself breathe. ---