Enigmatic love

My feet hurt as I continued walking briskly up the dark, steep alley. The choice of footwear had gone extremely wrong considering that the footpath was laid with cobblestones. I should have been wearing a pair of running shoes, and instead I chose the leather loafers which hardly gave any padding to the sole of my feet. The sudden gusts of cold wind filled me with joy as I shivered in my own embrace. I was checking my watch every thirty seconds; I did not want to be late. I stopped for a moment to regain my breath as I reached the top of the alley. I could see the turn of the corner where I was to meet her; a local delicatessen with chairs set up under the night sky. I checked my watch, Seven Forty-Six; I had enough time to buy flowers for her from that little window-shop off the next intersection. I was cursing myself for not falling in love earlier, because being in love felt absolutely delightful. I could hardly name five flowers if someone asked me to, but still I knew exactly which ones she adored. 

These were the things which made her who she was for me. I did not know the name of her parents, or how many siblings she had. I did not know her friends. I was not even sure what her subject of graduation had been. But I knew who she was as a person. I knew about her ideals, her thoughts, her favourite morning tune, her most preferred brand of coffee, her political views, her love for bright colours, her obsession with that particular whiff of cologne; I knew her the way only someone very close to her would, and to think that we had met only twice and spent less than half-a-year exchanging letters.

I tucked my shirt reassuringly and laid the flowers on the table in front of me. I checked my watch again; still three minutes to our scheduled meeting time. I settled down, keeping my eyes glued at the road where she would have to walk down from. I was neither nervous, nor relaxed. I was happily anxious to be meeting her again. And then I saw her getting down from the car. Her feet so delicately wrapped with leather straps which formed her sandals. Her dress just ending near her ankles and clinching on to her legs because of the persistent wind. Her arms wrapped around by a thin stole and her hair lying so carelessly to one side of her shoulder. She gave me one of the most enchanting smiles as I handed her the flowers and we hugged warmly. We spent the next few hours talking about no specific subject in particular, sipping iced cappuccinos, watching the evening pass away casually; and all the while, I kept trying to convince myself to tell her how I felt for her. Maybe, she was waiting for me to say it as well. Maybe, I will muster up the courage the next time we meet. Or maybe, it should simply go on the way it is going, because it is beautiful!


(Read the continuation here: Candid Love)