A/N:So I'm not sure how many days it'll take me to actually write all the 100 stories but here's to trying.

Disclaimer: I don't own either of the characters.

One Hundred Tales


(Tyson facing anger management issues)

Following a routine made him calm, it made him feel secure. Because routines didn't change. They remained intact and same as long as the person was committed to it. And he was committed to his routine. He needed that routine to keep his cool. Because he did terrible things when he lost his cool. Terrible things that he wished to forget. So he followed a routine that made sure he wouldn't snap and break someone's neck every time he got angry. Because no matter how much he tried it, counting backwards never worked for him. By the time he'd reach eight, the monster would already be paving his way out and by the time he pushed down the monster, he'd usually find himself sitting in a pool of his own blood with a broken bone or two.

The people surrounding him would often slip the word therapy into their normal conversations. They thought he needed help. Maybe he did. But he didn't want it. And despite his stubborn attitude he couldn't escape their worry, he couldn't escape the looks of concern that appeared on their faces every time he clenched his fists or gritted his teeth. So he gave up and lied to them. He told them he was seeking help and working on getting better. The former was a lie, the latter wasn't. He was trying to get better but he was doing it by himself. He stayed home one weekend and tried to figure out what calmed him down. And that's when he discovered that the monster stayed down when things were done in a particular order. It stayed down when he followed a routine.

At first it didn't make a big difference. But slowly and slowly he started feeling calm. Slowly and slowly he started learning to keep the monster down. Little things stopped ticking him off and he learned to ignore, he learned what it meant to let go. And it all started with his routine.

And she was a part of that routine. The first few weeks he didn't notice her. But he knew she had been there.

Just like every other morning.

His day started at 4:45 AM.

He woke up, brushed his teeth put on his running clothes and shoes and went running. He would run around the whole town twice. On his first round around the park, the rusty bench would be empty, which is probably why in the first few weeks he didn't pay any attention to his surroundings during his second round. And that he had realised later on, had been a mistake. Because she had been there. And he had missed his chance to see her one more time.

He would be home by 6:15 AM and would go to sleep again, waking up at exactly 7:30 AM. He'd shower, eat his breakfast and skim through the headlines. He'd be on his way to work by 8. Reaching his office at 8:45 AM, fifteen minutes before his boss arrived. He'd sit in his cubicle and keep the social interaction to a minimum. Occasionally he'd take a break and just sit and think about her, feeling the calmness spread through is body as her face floated in and out of his thoughts. He'd be home by 10:00 PM and in his bed by 11.

The first time he saw her, his legs had slowed on their own accord. He was a little taken aback to see her sitting on the bench because he had crossed that bench a while ago and it had been empty at that time. As he moved closer he noticed her hand moving across the journal lying on her lap swiftly. He looked up at her face and almost came to a halt when he realised that she was looking at him. And just for a small moment their eyes met. She smiled slightly and went back to her writing. He quickened his pace and continued his run. Her ruby eyes imprinted in his brain. All he could think of that day was her smile and if he would get to see her again.

And he did.

Every day after that she would be there on the bench, journal in lap and a pen in her right hand moving swiftly across the paper. Her unruly brown hair would always be tied back in a messy bun with a few strands covering her eyes. Some days she wouldn't bother changing out of her pyjamas and some days she'd be all dressed up. On rare occasions the journal would be replaced by a novel. But each and every time just for a moment their eyes would meet and she'd smile at him.

And that smile became a part of his routine. So when after two months, on a fine Wednesday morning he was met with an empty bench, his legs came to an abrupt halt. He stood there unable to understand the emptiness. Because now, the routine was broken. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, trying to calm himself. He started walking away slowly, counting backwards in his head as he tried to pick up his pace. It was when he reached five that he noticed a white object on the bench. He backed up a little bit and studied the bench closely. It was a sheet of paper, weighed down by a small rock. He picked up the rock and carelessly tossed it away. He eyed the lone page and then picked it up, bringing it closer to his face to inspect the contents of the sheet.

He felt his cheeks grow warm. It was a sketch of him running. The page probably belonged to the leather journal, he thought. As his eyes scanned the page, he noticed two words written in a neat handwriting on the bottom of the page.

Turn over.

So he turned over the page and his eyes widened in surprise. Written in that same neat handwriting was a number.

She had broken his routine.

And he had never felt calmer.


A/N: Don't forget to leave a review! (And I promise there will be dialogues in the next one)