The air had barely a bite to it, still clinging futilely onto the summer's warmth. The trees overhead were just beginning to shift to their autumn garb, the few golden leaves strewn haphazardly on the ground dancing in an interwoven song, sung by the wind that played affectionately with the branches and the grass. The birds were being characteristically stubborn, harmonising adamantly in the trees and in the clouds despite the dying sun's rays painting the sky red and gold.

The pale blonde who stood under the oak was shivering, despite the kisses from the odd warm breeze. Deep eyes like stormy skies flickered from side to side, as he blew onto un-gloved palms. He wrapped the scarf protecting his neck tighter, pale fingers brushing delicately over the fabric.

He was waiting. I could see that much.

The dancing leaves neared his shoes, brushing sneakers and the ends of untied laces. The messy hair paid testimony for the hours spent there, as did his rumpled clothes and the empty packet of chips discarded on the ground. The pale skin and occasional sneezes exposed his bad health, the chewed lips and nervously tapping toes showing how worried he was.

Yes, he was definitely waiting.

I stood there, across the park, leaning on a bench, brows furrowed. Two hours ago, I had come here to catch some fresh air, and seen the boy (in his late teens, I guessed) waiting there. Two hours of staring, and he hadn't moved from the spot. Judging by the amounts of used tissues stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, he'd been there for the whole day.

Sighing, I decided to give up. My mom would kill me if I didn't get home soon...

I came to the park the next morning, and he was still there.

I jerked back in surprise when I caught sight of the figure huddled under the blanket. Still dressed in the same clothes, and shivering like he was going to die of cold; yes, it was him. More packets (of crisps, marshmallows, gummy bears and chocolate) were piled up next to the pale teen curled up under the tree. This time, he'd brought along a hardcover novel, which sat untouched next to a thermos. He was still waiting.

I told my little sister to go play, which she did quite happily. And I sat down on a nearby bench, unable to stop myself from staring at him.

He sat there the whole day, sometimes taking sips from the thermos, eating things from a backpack he used as a cushion. He never even got up, except once in the afternoon to stretch no-doubt aching legs.

He only left about three hours after the sun set (yes, I stayed there that long. Bonnie was convinced that I'd lost it), with the most dejected look on his face.

Making it my mission to find out what had kept him there that long, I returned the next day, armed with food, drink, my iPod and a book.

He stayed there the whole day, from three hours before sunrise, to three hours after sunset.

He came back every day, and I did, too, after school, that is.

My mom asked me what I was doing. I said I needed somewhere quiet to study, and hauled my textbooks along, bringing my laptop with me.

A month passed. Nothing changed, except that the days got colder and I got friendlier with the regulars in the park. I noted everything about the pretty blonde, from the high cheekbones and long lashes, to the trembling limbs and shadows under half lidded eyes.

One day, my dad put his foot down. Winter was coming, freezing everything over, and this park thing wasn't healthy. I would just have to study indoors.

I didn't come back to the park until spring. I forgot about the lost-looking boy, you see.

When I did come back, it was with a few friends of mine, laughing and playing about. My blood ran cold when I saw the boy.

Still there, minus the scarf and plus a cap, pulled on top of messy locks.

Noticing my shock (how long could he keep it up?!), my friend asked me what was wrong.

"Oh, that guy?" she giggled, upon hearing my stuttered response. "He's always there, like, every day. He's cute, isn't he?"

"Every day?" I asked, numbly.

"Yep. I walk my neighbour's dog here every evening, and he's there."

Oh my God.

I reinstated Operation Park, and renewed my habit of camping out on that park bench. When I asked my dad if it was okay, it was with a sense of guilt.

He said yes.

And I went back to staring at him, every day after school.

Alright, I admit that, after another month, I reduced my visits to twice a week. And he was there.

The boy with the haunting eyes, lost and endlessly sad, became a constant in my life.

When summer passed and my boyfriend broke up with me, he was there. When my best friend betrayed me and left me alone, he was there. When autumn returned and my mom and I began fighting, he was there. The conflict in my life was reduced. His wide languid eyes and constancy were balm to me.

One day, I did something different.

I walked across the park, and sat down next to him. He didn't move, or respond in any way. I was wondering if he'd even noticed me, when those bottomless eyes flicked to me, and his lips pulled into a smile.

We didn't say a word, even when the day passed. We parted at the same time (the usual three hours after sunset) with a hint of a smile on our faces.

The next day, he brought food enough for the both of us. He handed me a book as soon as I sat down, though I never touched it.

A few weeks passed like this, he and I seated in amiable silence, never saying a word.

One day, I did another thing different. I asked him the question plaguing my mind for over a year.

"Why do you come here, every day?"

He paused in the action of draining a juice box (for someone so slim, he sure ate a lot) and blinked. Pursing his lips, he spoke in a soft voice, raspy and seemingly unused. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Who could have you coming back every day, for this long?" I kept it up. His face flushed, the blush staining ashen cheeks (and confirming that the freakishly pale boy did, indeed, have a pulse).

Discomfort evident on his features, he mumbled, "It's a long story." This was an obvious evasion of the topic, and my brow rose.

"Uh, I have time," I said, stating the obvious.

He chuckled, stunning me momentarily. His laugh, despite its resemblance to a splutter, was heart-warming in its adorability.

"Well...?"

"It all began a...how long ago? A year and a half? That long? Anyway...I liked this-No, I fell in love with a girl. I asked her out, and told her that I loved her. We'd been enemies before-I never really hated her-but we were just getting to be friends..."

He trailed off, eyes staring unseeingly, lost in some distant memory. His lips pulled up in a bitter smile.

"...anyway, I told her I loved her. In this very spot, in fact. And...Well, she didn't see that one coming. Even our 'friendship' was something of a shock. She said she needed time to think. She said she'd come back to this very spot at sunset the next day with her answer."

I had a feeling I could guess the rest. I winced, and murmured, "And?"

"I came here early. An hour before she said she'd come. And she didn't show up."

The rest was left unsaid, and the absolute horror of it ate at me.

He came here the next day, and she didn't come. He came here every day, every day for over a year, and she didn't come.

Oh, Lord. There was loyalty, and then there was this.

We sat in silence again, each lost in our own thoughts.

The next day, we talked some more. We exchanged names, stories, jokes and memories. We got closer.

His name was Jasper. I told him my name was Wendy.

"I saw you every day, too. I wondered why that girl over there was staring at me...and now I know. You seriously stayed just to see what I was waiting for?"

I grinned. "How could I help it? You looked like a kid who lost his puppy for days on end, and that's just weird."

"Hah. How old are you?"

"Seventeen," I replied. "You?"

"Seventeen-no, eighteen now," he murmured, surprised by the fact.

"Don't you go to school or something?"

"Actually, I can't. I never did."

"What?!" I cried. "Never? How about a job? Who do you live with? How do you get the money?"

"I do work," he smiled, a bitter look in his eyes. "At night. And I live with my...friend, sort of. We don't really talk."

"Doing what?" And how on earth did he sleep? (Well, it explained the rings under his eyes, at any rate)

He didn't answer. We stayed silent for a while, and then resumed conversation.

I think that era would have gone on forever, if real life hadn't intervened. I found myself visiting Jasper (or Jas, as I took to calling him) for two or three hours a day, instead of the usual five or six. Damn school.

As time passed, I couldn't help wondering why he didn't just give up. It was clear that this girl was never coming back. But, I never asked; I was sure that the question would hurt him...

We were talking again one day, Jas expounding animatedly on a rather amusing caper pulled by he and his friends a few years ago. He looked sweet when he was like this; pretty face flushed and eyes sparkling like a child. I couldn't help but smile. He's so cute.

"And you won't believe it, but the blasted idiot actually blurted it out! Confessed! Right at him! I swear I wanted to kill him..." he trailed off, eyes widening as he sighted something behind me. I turned around, and blinked.

I couldn't see anything, really. Just a few people passing by...

I followed his line of sight, and my gaze locked on a pretty redheaded girl, hanging on the arm of a tall guy who was grinning and pulling her along. The pair walked past, the girl glancing at Jas, and smiling in recognition.

The boy was still for a moment, utter misery in his gaze. When he looked up at me, his lips were curled in the mockery of a smile. "That's her."

I didn't have to ask. The rapidly welling tears and aura of potent heartbreak were enough.

Silence reigned for a moment, and he whispered, "She doesn't even remember..."

When we left that night at the usual time, I thought I heard a sob.

He didn't come back the next day.

Or the next, or the next...eventually even I stopped coming back.

It seemed fated that I would never hear from Jas again.

But I did. A week later, a small letter was dug out from the post, addressed to me. (How did he get my address?)

Dear Wen,

I'm sorry, but I won't be going to the park anymore. I probably won't see you again, and I will miss you. (Don't miss me too much, though.)

I hope you enjoyed our conversations as much as I did.

Love,

Jas

That wasn't it, though. That very night, the local news station ran a story.

The story was short and to the point. A young man aged eighteen had been found dead in an apartment. His name was Jasper Collins, and it was, undoubtedly, suicide. No one could deny that when the victim had was lying peacefully on the ground, the pills in clear view.

No one watching the TV with me could understand why I keeled over, and started sobbing. No one could understand why I fainted either.

Oh, Jas...why?!

Every day, I run by the park, and sit under the oak tree for hours on end. And on autumn days, I swear I hear his voice, or catch a glimpse of bottomless, stormy grey eyes.

"Hi," I started when a voice interrupted my silence, and sat next to me. A boy, about my age, grinned at me. I smiled back.

We sat in silence for a while, until he broke it, "Why do you come here every day?"

I couldn't help but smile, sadly. The answer, when it came was an odd one. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Who could have you coming back, every day for so long?"

My smile grew wider, and I could almost hear Jas answer, in sync with me.

"It's a long story."