The Descendant (He.)
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| Wishful tomorrow |
******
Since then not a day passed when her heart didn't skip a beat and her pupils dilated in anticipation with every WhatsApp ping. Although being used to the rant of that mobile, she was feeling unused to her self. Her mind was determined to let her not a minute spare without him. The wait seemed prolonged and the time seemed to have slowed down and become opaque.
She wanted all her life to be the sky; these days, she wants to be the breeze. He doesn't like rain, not because of the rain, but probably because he was cautious about his hair. She liked the way he cared about himself. He is compassionate; may be the history, or the life, or just the way, but something about him made her wish him. She experiences the chills she didn't know existed in her.
******
He stepped out as if he wanted her to want him. Blue; he was in a blue jacket. That day blue trespassed the nomination of being just a colour, it became an identity to her wish. Very oddly, she felt, what she knew not before, shy. She made a quick look at him and lowered her lashes, scared her admiration for him might get noticed. Within, she craved to keep looking at him, bunk the lunch, but all she did was struggled against another look of him. Apparently, she was not so good at pretending. He asked if he looked fine. She already had noticed the different hair set in that quick glance. She smiled, She smiled. And, she smiled. "The hair looks different", that was all she could manage to say. He replied in his usual cool way it was the lack of blowdry. She took few steps back. She bewilderingly paused to think if he looks so captivating due to absence of something, what it would be to face him when he would announce himself all perfect. Balancing herself on pumps she again smiled. And then the question pops up which she dreaded the most: why she was avoiding looking at him...if he looked alright. From the wide windows facing the street, she turned towards him, looking straight into his eyes. His dark brown eyes shined in the scattered sunlight through the tree boughs of the Palash trees; the hair appeared dark chestnut brown, the blue jacket suited him radiantly. Testosterone is best with tints of confidence, charming temperament and great fashion sense.
******
She has a thing for voices and laughters. Over the phone, a hello never sounded better. She longed to hear him more, Only if she knew how to achieve that. Some fine day the clock will strike right and he will converse longer. The cellular device alone has witnessed her knots and slides while he is on the other side of the phone call. She misses her partner in excitement. They say one feels butterflies fluttering in tummy when the crush starts settling too hard in the blood. She could feel the tiger roaring, the butterflies fluttering, the tall trees swinging in wind, the river waters making way around the rocks, the kites fluttering in high skies, the chills of a snowy night, the warmth of an autumn morning...she feels the whole world in her, when she hears him. As ambitious as she is for herself, so wishful she is for him. He is the only one she feels like keep listening to all that he has to say, all that he can say, and not bat an eye. If it was ever possible to love someone exponentially, then she undergoes the arithmetic every moment. When was it ever easy to narrate their budding story...yet, it feels more complex for her to understand what renders her this gargantuan change. How does one shy confidently? How does one explain the aesthetic acoustics to the inexperienced? The beauty lies in the assurance of the safety that comes with one-sided love; nobody can sabotage it.
******
Endless anticipations, mixed signals, restless nights, impromptu smiles, fast filling diary pages, prudent conversations...in the midst of all these, all she wishes is him. If this doesn't define her innermost longings, then everything else should fall apart. She was strong enough to never give up on love; but this is a fierce force born out of her, and consuming her. She knows it is going to be the hardest of all, and so, it will be the one of all. Life can get harder, harsher, can demand more practicality, but to run away from the sensuality of love is a never happening phenomenon. Even it takes her to be consumed, she keeps her faith in the shimmer of possibilities. In a fragile hope, she lets her present relish.
Why not just convey him? Because more than often, it is easier to let him know than to tell him.
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