The first time he saw her... he stopped breathing. There in a car parked precariously close to the sidewalk... For once, the sun shone bright on this shanty town... A piece of sky had come down - and didn't crush him.
She spoke with a voice so strong, you'd believe in miracles. His world receded. And he didn't know what he was doing anymore. Since he had met her, words hadn't flowed easily. She asked him how he was doing. He struggled... And she still persisted. He had spilt his coffee twice at home... He had forgotten to pay the maid. His arms felt like they cramped... and the pit of his stomach was in upheaval. Otherwise, he was fine.
He didn't know whether he should get angry... or if people genuinely were supposed to swap those kinds of stories. He had no story to tell her.
A month later, she asked him if he danced.
He wanted to say something along the lines of how he found much less occasion for that these days. That he used to dance quite often before he uh.. turned 25. At clubs and at parties and all that. But how, that he was older, he didn't just take to it anymore. Something like that the dancing phase of his life was over. That he was afraid his skills may have atrophied.
He managed 'uh-uh'.
She held his gaze and spoke in a low voice 'Maybe I should have made myself clearer. I meant would you dance with me.'
xx - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xx
He sat across the table in her city across her friends. One of them actually had the gall to ask him - why her?
He stared blankly back at her. He grasped at straws. Why? Why her indeed?
Because he could break down in her arms, and she'd still hold him. Because he could talk to her about his past. Because all she cared about was him. Because she prepared a romantic dinner. Because she'd ditch her friends to be with him. Because she could clean his house in five minutes. Because she'd reach out to hold his hand on a street. Because she'd rest her head on his shoulder while watching a movie. Because she could stand up to anyone. Because she played nice with him. Because she looks across the table to find his eyes right now. Because she wouldn't take his money even if she needed it. Because she wanted to go public, but respected his wishes. Because she planned a weekend getaway. Because she'd beat him every time racing cars. Because she looked so disappointed when he did something stupid. Because he thought she was hot. Because she left him notes. Because their secrets were hotter. Because they made elevators look good. Because she wanted to make sure he was okay. Because she finally took him out dancing. Because she loved her parents. Because he wanted her to trust him. Because even throwing insults was foreplay.
He didn't answer the question...
On the way back, he turned to her as she drove. 'S, why do you want to go be with me?'
She flashed him a smile as she took a languid turn. 'Well, that's for me to know.'
He was scared about what went on in her mind. Yet he was as thirsty for it as a fish out of water.
He thought he was disconnected from everything. For too long now he had been leading an unstable, risky life. He had hung out with all sorts of people. Nothing could shock him anymore. He was not impressed by the unexpected, he had always been able to handle it. That day however, when he saw S again, he just fell to pieces. He thought he had managed to push her out, that he had overcome the pain and remorse which made him want to see her again.
She looked at him again, then with a painful smile she kissed him on the cheek as she got in to a car and drove away. The room is dark again. S was gone. A few months ago he had asked her to wait for him. He had been scared he would never see her again. And now he was terrified that he'd never see her yet again. He moved away. No doubt believing it was all another lie, she slit her wrists with a knife. The Gods were on his side; they found her, saving her life in the nick of time.
At some point in the distant past he had asked her if she preferred movies with sad endings or the happy ones.
'The sad ones definitely' she had replied. The ones that could make her cry.
Ruefully he looked up at the ceiling. She was probably with the right guy then.
She was reading his diary when he entered. He could see that she was past the end. He couldn't see her well through the heavy air. 'Well' he ventured. She looked back down. After a long pause, 'I blame you, you know. But not for what you have put down here.'
He stood perfectly still. He waited. 'Making me go through through the dark side wasn't the worst thing you know' she continued.
'What was?'
'Making me go alone' she sniffed.
He had been holding his breath he realized. He didn't care if he exhaled again. He couldn't meet her eyes anymore. He shifted on his feet as he exhaled. 'What are going to do?'. And she didn't answer. 'I am no longer the smart one here' he said. 'Help me out'.
She packed her stuff as she headed out. She stopped at the doorway to turn and tell him 'You have to do what writers do - You have to start on a new book'.
She carried on . She had to head back. Do a couple of things. And meet some friends. In no particular order.
It wasn't complete dismissal. He looked up the road and then back at her. 'Would you mind if I walked you for a little bit?'
She nodded and smiled. Politely. 'Why not?'
And he fell in step by her side. No word was spoken. When they crossed the street, she held his hand.
She spoke with a voice so strong, you'd believe in miracles. His world receded. And he didn't know what he was doing anymore. Since he had met her, words hadn't flowed easily. She asked him how he was doing. He struggled... And she still persisted. He had spilt his coffee twice at home... He had forgotten to pay the maid. His arms felt like they cramped... and the pit of his stomach was in upheaval. Otherwise, he was fine.
He didn't know whether he should get angry... or if people genuinely were supposed to swap those kinds of stories. He had no story to tell her.
A month later, she asked him if he danced.
He wanted to say something along the lines of how he found much less occasion for that these days. That he used to dance quite often before he uh.. turned 25. At clubs and at parties and all that. But how, that he was older, he didn't just take to it anymore. Something like that the dancing phase of his life was over. That he was afraid his skills may have atrophied.
He managed 'uh-uh'.
She held his gaze and spoke in a low voice 'Maybe I should have made myself clearer. I meant would you dance with me.'
xx - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xx
He sat across the table in her city across her friends. One of them actually had the gall to ask him - why her?
He stared blankly back at her. He grasped at straws. Why? Why her indeed?
Because he could break down in her arms, and she'd still hold him. Because he could talk to her about his past. Because all she cared about was him. Because she prepared a romantic dinner. Because she'd ditch her friends to be with him. Because she could clean his house in five minutes. Because she'd reach out to hold his hand on a street. Because she'd rest her head on his shoulder while watching a movie. Because she could stand up to anyone. Because she played nice with him. Because she looks across the table to find his eyes right now. Because she wouldn't take his money even if she needed it. Because she wanted to go public, but respected his wishes. Because she planned a weekend getaway. Because she'd beat him every time racing cars. Because she looked so disappointed when he did something stupid. Because he thought she was hot. Because she left him notes. Because their secrets were hotter. Because they made elevators look good. Because she wanted to make sure he was okay. Because she finally took him out dancing. Because she loved her parents. Because he wanted her to trust him. Because even throwing insults was foreplay.
He didn't answer the question...
On the way back, he turned to her as she drove. 'S, why do you want to go be with me?'
She flashed him a smile as she took a languid turn. 'Well, that's for me to know.'
He was scared about what went on in her mind. Yet he was as thirsty for it as a fish out of water.
xx - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xx
She looked at him again, then with a painful smile she kissed him on the cheek as she got in to a car and drove away. The room is dark again. S was gone. A few months ago he had asked her to wait for him. He had been scared he would never see her again. And now he was terrified that he'd never see her yet again. He moved away. No doubt believing it was all another lie, she slit her wrists with a knife. The Gods were on his side; they found her, saving her life in the nick of time.
At some point in the distant past he had asked her if she preferred movies with sad endings or the happy ones.
'The sad ones definitely' she had replied. The ones that could make her cry.
Ruefully he looked up at the ceiling. She was probably with the right guy then.
xx - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xx
He stood perfectly still. He waited. 'Making me go through through the dark side wasn't the worst thing you know' she continued.
'What was?'
'Making me go alone' she sniffed.
He had been holding his breath he realized. He didn't care if he exhaled again. He couldn't meet her eyes anymore. He shifted on his feet as he exhaled. 'What are going to do?'. And she didn't answer. 'I am no longer the smart one here' he said. 'Help me out'.
She packed her stuff as she headed out. She stopped at the doorway to turn and tell him 'You have to do what writers do - You have to start on a new book'.
She carried on . She had to head back. Do a couple of things. And meet some friends. In no particular order.
It wasn't complete dismissal. He looked up the road and then back at her. 'Would you mind if I walked you for a little bit?'
She nodded and smiled. Politely. 'Why not?'
And he fell in step by her side. No word was spoken. When they crossed the street, she held his hand.
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