He could hear the distant whispers of acacia leaves rustling above them. It was such a quiet afternoon and it almost seemed like the two of them were the only people in the world. She was sitting beside him on the bench, her arms gently resting on the table in front of her. He was slacking, as per usual, with his back against the table’s side and his elbows resting on its top. She was so close. He could faintly smell her perfume. For some reason it reminded him of silk.
“No,” he answered.
“Oh…”
She was doubtful. From the corner of his eye, he could see the he-is-hiding-something-from-me look on her face. The one with her lips pursed as if holding back a leer. She always gives that look every time he said something she didn’t expect. He smiled softly. He knows that look too well.
She knows me too well.
“Well, if you are you should tell me,” she said offhandedly. “That way we could talk about it. It’s not right when you hold grudges at someone. If people find out that you’ve been hiding what you really feel towards them, you might hurt their feelings.”
“I told you I’m not,” he said, turning to look at her, trying to sound more reassuring this time.
She probably fears she might have gotten into his nerves the other day for being too pushy. He just couldn’t convince her enough that he enjoys being with her too much to be annoyed. She couldn’t make him angry, really, unless she’d intend to do so, unless that’s what she wants all along.
She held his stare for a moment. Her eyes were intent on his, as if waiting for him to say something deeper. He didn’t say anything. He stayed quiet, watching her thoughtfully watching him. Somehow he finds it amusing seeing her trying to figure him out.
She hadn’t tied her hair today, he noticed. He could see wisps of black and brown strayed on her ear and cheek. At a sudden compulsion, he slowly raised his hand, touched the side of her face, and gently pushed the runaway strands safely to the back of her ear. The gesture seemed to stir her from musing. He grinned, almost contritely, as he laid his elbow back on the table. She turned away, her cheeks beginning to flush. A smile was slowly spreading across her face.
“How is he?” he asked after a while. A soft breeze drifted between them. It was cold against his face. He turned to watch her. She was thoughtlessly running her thumb on the table’s side, her hair lightly gliding with the breeze. She’ll always have this power over him, and he just can’t do anything about it. She draws him closer, without her even knowing, without him even knowing – like moth to a flame.
“How’s who?” she asked, absentmindedly.
“The ex,” he replied, trying not to sound too curious. She raised a thoughtful eyebrow, ever so slightly.
She looked back at him, trying to find a catch somewhere. He quickly turned to look away, trying to look indifferent.
“Bugging me as usual,” she said finally, exasperation clear in her voice.
He felt that twinge again, that stabbing feeling he gets whenever he finds her in distress. He knows he wouldn’t do anything at all. He wouldn’t do anything because he’s too damn afraid that, instead of helping her, he’ll end up hurting her.
What bothers him more though was the fact that he also feels stabbed every time he sees her together with the Ex, happy. It’s funny how this particular stabbing resembles jealousy and resentment so much.
“How is she?”
He caught the sly smile on her lips. She was teasing him, reminding him of his fickle nature. He stared at the ground grinning widely. He could see the shadows of the leaves dancing on the pavement.
At that moment, he wanted to tell her that he had forgotten about that girl, that it was her that he wanted to be with more than anyone else in the world, that he’s ready to face the consequences with her.
He wanted to love her so much.
But there were times when the heart has a mind of its own, and he could never lie to her.
“Getting prettier by the day,” he told her as he reached out and lightly ran a finger through her cheek.
She smiled sadly. He smiled back. They understood each other better when they’re not talking.
“Did you talk to her yet?”
“No.”
“Coward.”
The wind was gathering somewhere like a child behind a tree. The world around them seemed to slow down and watch, but no one was there but them.
“How do you know you’re falling in love with someone?” he asked her, uncertain.
“Are you sure it’s love you are feeling?” she asked back.
He couldn’t answer.
Another breeze picked up. She gently pulled back her hair and closed her eyes. The soft wind nuzzled her neck and whispered sweet nothings to her ear. Her soft cheeks flushed. Her smile was as delightful as summer. Sometimes, she could be so beautiful.
“I love you,” he said without thinking.
He stared at the ground again. He felt partly mortified and partly amazed at how it nearly felt like the right thing to say. Slowly, he turned to look at her. She was staring at him intently, thoughtfully. He heard the leaves rustle again. He waited for an answer. He waited, wanting to know if she feels the same. If she would only tell him, he would have courage enough to fight all doubt, all fear. He needed to know he was not alone.
She kept silent and he turned to look away.
“You’re not sure of that,” she whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice.
Without her, he could never be.
“Do you want me to love you?” he asked, not really sure why. It was a stupid question.
“Isn’t that kind of love conditional, loving someone only if you knew she’d love you back?”
He had no answer again. She was right and he could only go too far.
“We should be going,” she said, softly touching his arm. She stood up and waited for him.
He watched her as she left his side to stand up. All the wind was gone. There was only that hollow emptiness that hanged in the air like a tombstone.
“OK,” he said and stood up.
-Fin-
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14th of August, 2005
