Chapter 21.2: 1st destination

“Cristina was said to be a mysterious woman who tend to open the door of her house to her impoverished neighbors. It was when the beauty of her house is occasionally shown to the eyes of the public.” Our Professor breathed and turned at us.

I was busy observing the light patterns from the soft light filtered on the stained glass that is casted on the Persian rug that covers the hardwood floor when our Professor continued explaining.

“They say she wore a silver ring studded with a big diamond on her ring finger. Their theory that she might be actually married was supported when she mentions her husband as the architect of this house each time someone will point the glamour of her residence.” Our Professor brushed her finger on top of an ancient night table in front of her. Dust flew and spreaded on the air as she blew the dirt from her finger.

“But . . .” She said loudly, calling all of our attentions that was basically consumed in admiring the house’s interior. “There's a catch.” She said in an intriguing manner. “No one has ever seen this said husband of hers neither was she seen with her husband inside or outside this house within the span of her stay here.”

That statement surely aroused our curiosity but I’m pretty sure that my. classmates, just like me thinks that this information is not connected to our lesson.

“Even when Cristina died, this husband never showed up so her neighbors coordinated with the church to arrange a funeral for her. No husband showed up even until after her burial. That's when people thought that she might be lying about having a husband.”

“Ma’am”, my classmate from the back raised his hand, “maybe her husband was already dead then?”

“Maybe she doesn't have a husband at all.” One of my classmates at the back blurted. That's not likely, unless she's crazy.

“Some of her neighbors also thought about that. Not until a man in his sixties visited this house many years after Cristina died. When he arrived, the head of the town was tending to this place. The caretaker stopped him in his tracks but he claimed that he knew the owner of the house . . .” Our professor took a breath, “because he recognized this house as one of his designs he has given to his first love.” We gasped and my lips parted a bit.

“People”, Our professor called to us, “the architectural design of this house was made by an unnamed architect who once worked in one of the famous architectural companies in the country.”

“Why unnamed though? This house is his masterpiece but no one knows his name?” A classmate butted.

“It's because if you look into the corner of every plate he makes, Cristina’s name is signed in it. He worked using her name. Some say it's a tribute to her, and some say that every plate he draws is for her.” Our Professor, Melinda Joker shrugged.

Melinda Joker, her surname says it all. Joker, she likes to play pranks and jokes at us. She tells lies and jests like they were the truth so we are almost always fooled by it.

I don't think she'll joke about this, but the story of Cristina and the unnamed architect and the history of this house is too unbelievable to be true.

After a moment of realization, the amusement in my classmates’ eyes disappeared and we now headed to the second floor.

The wooden flight staircase groaned beneath our feet with our heavy footsteps. In the open space of the second floor we were welcomed by a line of bookshelves on the wall that is filled with leather-bound books showing the owner’s interest and love for books and literature. The smell of aged paper and leather fills the air, creating a comforting and nostalgic ambiance. Sunlight streams in through a large bay window, illuminating the area.

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“The story sounded kinda fake.” Sophia pointed.

“Yeah…” Jam agreed, “But how romantic would it be if it's really true. Imagine having someone designing your own house and dedicating his works to you.” Jam said in a dreamy voice as if she could visualize it happening to her.

“It's not romantic at all.” I stated. “They weren't together and the architect only arrived when Cristina was already dead when she spent most of her life telling everyone that she has a husband, but he never showed up and people started to think that she's crazy or she's making up things.” Jam, Sophia, and Grace looked at me with disbelief.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“Girl, be honest with us, are you undergoing some sort of heartbreak right now?” Grace suddenly asked which made me choke on my food.

“Quick, hand her the water!” Sophia shouted.

Grace gave me a glass of water that I quickly gulped down until my coughing stopped but my throat still felt sore.

Grace raised her eyebrow. “Was I right, Solene?”

I chuckled. “Of course not. What are you talking about? I’m not even dating anyone.”

“Then what about Fire?” Jam asked curiously.

“Fire? What about him?”

“Don't lie to us, Solene. Everyone on campus occasionally sees you together.” Sophia told me.

“That's in the past. We're not even together.” I defended myself. “Of course I’ve heard stories about him. **I didn't even take him seriously.”** I laughed bitterly.

***What a lie.** I said to myself as Fire's angry face that afternoon at the parking lot flashed into my mind.