Too Little Time to Change.

The wind was blowing south. Since childhood, Isabelle was taught to always look out for the sun whenever possible. At 2 PM, the sun would be lower than the countless skyscrapers surrounding her. At 7 AM, the sun would have this yellow tint to it, not quite orange. At 5 PM, the sun felt the nicest; all the rays would caress her pale white skin gently.

This habit of hers, that has been built by her parents, was something that she hated thoroughly. It reminded her of a time where she wasn't her and a time where the world was just not right. She immediately stray from the trance and finally come to her destination for this afternoon.

A small Italian restaurant at the edge of the street, across the police station, and right next to the pharmacy. That place was a friend of Isabelle's dad. Fortunately for her, even after her plastic surgery, Mr. Maxwell would always still recognize her. He would always say that Isabelle's smile was indistinguishable from anyone else's.

"Isabelle!" He shouted from the kitchen, although not even seeing her figure coming in. He walked outside and his footsteps echoed slightly on the checkered black and white ceramic floor. He wore a white apron stained by countless years of serving spaghetti and meatballs. He gave her a big smile before coming close for a hug.

"It's always nice to see you coming once in a while." His huge figure towered Isabelle's and his beard was rubbing towards her short black hair. Different from before, after the surgery, Isabelle felt a sense of unease because it felt way tighter and cramped than usual. Whether it was because of him not being used to what I looked like now or whether I became monumentally smaller than how I was before, it felt distinct from before.

"How's the restaurant?" It was 6.15 PM and the usually-crowded restaurant was almost empty besides a couple of people eating at their own tables. Isabelle's thoughts were filled with assumptions, but was too afraid to asked directly. For her, the man that is sitting in front of her was a part of her family. One that she intended to leave behind a couple years ago.

"So-so. I guess opening an Italian restorant while not being Italian yourself is a hard thing to do." He chuckled quietly; it sounded much like a pirate. Under his breath, he was sighing due to stress. "I guess this city never wanted an Italian restaurant sitting on its street." His voice was ever so slightly quivering; he sounded tired, but his smile was preventing her to comfort him more than this.

"Have you called Phillip lately?" One thing that she loathed about her uncle was his reluctance to share about anything negative. She understood that was something that should stay away from children's ears but this year, Isabelle turned 26. That being said, in the past couple of years, Isabelle have been growing significantly; she was more mature than ever.

"A couple of times, but not long. Most of the time it was for a split second because of our schedule clashing." She lied as easy as stating an answer based on reality. It was a habit that she wanted to unlearn, but it was always much easier to lie than tell the truth and face it head-on.

"That's.... good. That's good to hear." His voice felt different; slightly lower in tone and it sounded odd. After noticing it, her stomach sunk and a terrible pain striked her heart.

"I think it's okay. Sometimes we just need more time in the oven. Pizza isn't made in a jiffy. All we need is more time to... do everything again the right way."

"I think it's okay, Isabelle."

His smile was wide and kind. This was the moment she waited for. Maxwell's smile reminded her of a simpler times, far away from the torture that is adult life in United States of America.

"Thank you, Uncle. I guess... I do need more time in the oven." She laughed whilst holding both of her hands covering her mouth. The breeze coming from the AC was, strangely enough, warm.