At about eleven-thirty, I receive a text message from Aaren. My phone vibrated on my bedside table as I was ready to fall asleep.

When Aaren said he was confident in knowing where the following note would be, I recalled forcing myself to get up from the comforts of my bed. I managed to leave the house quietly—successfully—after tiptoeing down the stairs and almost stumbling on the way down, and nearly shattering a vase.

There's a first time for everything, and this would be my first time sneaking out late at night with a guy on a Thursday school night, only to travel to a different city to retrieve a note with me.

That freaking note.

I kept staring at Aaren like a stalker the entire time he was driving, as he was quietly mouthing the words of the song from the radio that he blasted through the car the moment I hopped in his vehicle. It made me half-wish I was deaf for the day.

Aaren gave me a brief glance, his brows furrowed in bemusement, as he continued to sing along with the song even though no sound came out of his mouth at all.

"Why do you keep staring at me like that?" He asks, "Do I have something on my face?" He suddenly brushes each of his cheeks with his free hand.

I shake my head as I sat straight, shifting my whole body towards the dark road ahead of us.

"You haven't been answering my calls and messages for the past three days," I manage to say as I stare at my side of the window, watching each lamp post on the side of the roads.

I shift my head towards his direction, "Is everything okay?" I asked, my voice falling flat, hinting a concerned tone.

Aaren snickers. He spares me another glance, this time, it was three seconds longer than earlier, "Everything is okay."

I don't know why but his tone somehow convinced me that he wasn't telling the truth—or at least, that's what my gut was telling me.

"You're not okay, aren't you?" I asked again. "I could listen to you talk about it all day, especially because you've already allowed yourself to give some time to listen to me talk about mine."

I watch his lips slowly curl into a smile as he fixes his gaze on the road ahead of us. "Everything is okay," he says again but in a more relaxed tone this time.

He turns his head to face me, gazing me in the eyes. I watch as his free hand delicately reaching for mine, and I allow him to squeeze it. I suppose that's his way of telling me that he's okay, but I can't seem to let go of it—the thought of it. The idea that he was somehow not.

"Don't worry about me," Aaren says, "I promise you; everything is okay."

I fell asleep on the way to Pasadena. It was a failed attempt when I drank hot chocolate; knowing that I'm not much of an avid fan of coffee, I opted for buying myself a cup of hot chocolate to help me stay awake but instead, it had the opposite effect of what I was expecting when I drank it.

"I think hot chocolates are meant to help you with your good night's sleep instead of helping you stay awake," Aaren says, making me roll my eyes as he laughs at me.

"Are we almost there?" I asked as I adjusted the seat straight, back to its proper position. I rolled down the window, allowing myself to feel the breeze of the night air fanning my bare skin as I inhale the smell of the city.

I turned my head towards Aaren, "We're almost there," he says, "In about five to eight minutes, according to the GPS Lady."

I see the tranquility of the locations we pass through as they are shrouded in stillness. The night air was thick with hopes of peace, which I yearned for and wished for. I feel like this city would be good for my soul, I think.

"We're here," Aaren says.

I turn my gaze to Aaren, who is wholly absorbed in the task of parking the vehicle. I find myself snickering to see Aaren in this rare state, and I don't think I'll get accustomed to it if it frequently occurs (him being so serious).

Aaren and I got out of the vehicle after the keys were removed from the ignition and the car was parked. Aaren keeps scrolling on his phone. My gaze wanders over the area, scrutinizing every corner, every space, and every building.

Aaren looks up from his phone and says, "It's here," he points at the building on the opposite side of the street.

We cross the street, and I follow him as he continues to type on his phone, which then begins to ring seconds later. As he slides the button to answer the call, he presses his cellphone to his ear.

"Yup," Aaren says as he turns around to look at me with his face expressionless. "She's here with me."

He nods his head a few times in silence before he speaks up again, "Yup, we'll wait."

The phone call ends as questions immediately circulated into my brain. I crossed my arms to my chest as I ask him, "What's that about?"

"I know someone who knows someone that owns an art gallery here, and he told me that the owner of the art gallery was hosting an art exhibit."

My eyebrows furrow, "At this hour?"

Aaren snickers and says, "You'll be surprised how many people hosts such exhibits and parties at this hour, so, to answer your question, yes."

One of the building's doors swings open where we were standing outside. Inside the building, there was a dim yet brilliant light. A guy walks out of the building. He rushes up to Aaren as soon as he recognizes him.

"Hey, man," The guy says, "It's been a while. How've you been?"

Aaren shrugs, "Everything's smooth sailing."

The guy looks at me then looks at Aaren again, "Is that her?"

Her?

Aaren looks at me, and now they're both looking at me, "Yeah. Her mom was the one who painted one of the paintings that your boss was exhibiting tonight."

The guy nods his head as he walked towards me, extending his hand towards mine for me to shake, "Brandon," he says simply. I took his hand and shake it, "I'm a fan of your Mrs. Sander's artworks. Sadly, my boss only owns two or three of them."

I couldn't think of anything to say. I haven't actually encountered anyone who claims to be a fan of my mother's artworks, or if I have, it was while I was still a kid. Now that I'm a young adult, capable of conversing with someone who loves something my mother produced, I know it's not something I'll ever get accustomed to.

I smiled, "I think my mom would really appreciate it knowing that you love her artwork," I told him, and he smiles at me.

Brandon points at the door of the building, "Shall we head inside?" he asks, and I nodded my head.

Aaren and I followed him. There were two security guards inside, standing beside the door. They let us pass through as soon as he saw that we were accompanied by Brandon.

Brandon twists his head back to gaze at me for a second and asks, "Would it be okay for me to introduce you to my boss? She's much of a big fan of Mrs. Sanders' artworks. I actually admired your mom's artworks after listening to my boss' perspectives about how she sees Mrs. Sanders artworks."

Aaren, who was walking alongside me, looks at me and whispers to me. I opted to disregard the voice inside my head and what Aaren was attempting to tell me.

"That's fine," I told Brandon.

I just hope I don't say something foolish or that they don't say anything stupid that would trigger me, causing me to fall into the psychotic mousetrap or black hole of voices and depressing emptiness.

Aaren grabs my hand then squeezes it, "I'll be here," he says.

And that was enough to keep me, my worries, and thoughts at the shore.