Back from work, her phone beeped. It was his message. It didn’t open. She tried calling him up. It said not-reachable. Disappointed enough, she fell asleep. Some 12 hours later, she got up to some 15 missed calls and a text. She had to run to complete the few things she had lined up for the day, so that she could go pick him up from the airport.
Done with her work, she got out to fetch a cab. The Sky was grumpy, she was not. Probably, it was about to rain. Probably, she was happy. She felt good about herself, about her life. Its the kind of good that drags a smile in a face unknowingly. She was late. He landed some 25 odd minutes ago. She couldn’t locate him. She stood in a crowd of thousands unable to trace him, suddenly her phone stopped working. She felt sad, the kind of sad that makes one feel so restless.
And, then she spots him, from afar, walking in her direction. Everything else blurs out, like it happens in her favorite movies. She could only lay her eyes on him, the background gets blurred. She was finally getting a hang of things, getting over the work stress, getting over the sadness, getting over her anger, looking forward to good things – the things she longed to speak seated next to him. There was just something about him. Something about him that makes her wish, she lived with him forever. But she hated him. She had decided to break all ties with him.
He is about some 20 feet away. He looks at her – he smiles, he waves his hands. She stands firm and cold with nothing but a faint smile on her face. Its as if she is stretching her lips too forcefully to smile. She thinks about the last time they met, the last time they fought, and then he left. And how she promised to self that she would never see him again. And again; she is here, standing right in front of him. This is what she hates. She can never keep her words; and again, this is what he loves about her. He is the only boy in the planet who can make her do all these weird things in this world. She stands in front of him and melts into a shapeless heath of wax. Like what the fire does to the candle. He was the fire and she, the candle.
What is it about him? His dark hairs or dusky skin? His intense eyes or husky voice? His black jacket or white shirt? Is it the way he walks that makes him so very attractive, or perhaps it’s the way he talks, or what he talks about that makes him completely irresistible.
She was lost in her thoughts and she had an emergency to deal with. He was nearing. His smiles nearing. She could see him more prominently now. His eyes, his curved little dimple, she could observe it all. He is about some 10 feet away. He looks at her and winks. Her heart melts, but she does everything in her power to stop herself from running to him. He was coming closer to her. There was a spark in his eyes, but also longing. It seemed like he missed her as much as she missed him. Her smile grew wider. He was in her hearing distance, but not close enough that she could touch him. She could almost feel his skin on hers but he was not quite close yet. So she waited, waited for him to get closer. She waited for him to speak. He slowed down. He spoke of words that she couldn’t hear. All she could feel was his bristle around her neck, for she was in his arms in lesser than a second. So close, that she always wanted to be.