Life is not a bed of roses said some, and I never believed. This indeed was my conviction and I held it tight. Lively, happy, cheerful days speckled with laughter and fun were an essentiality of my life. I smiled for I gave my self a multitude of reasons to every single waking moment, and never cried for I never left self be given a reason to. Wish the life, my life was the same. But as humans, we are fated to see either side of this existential cascade.
It was a quiet noon on a Saturday. Unlike most, this noon was dim with clouds smeared about the vast expanse of the sky. Dusty winds blew through the corridors of my college and carried the yellowed senescent leaves on a tour. And the tree with a lush of green spotting an infrequent blade of golden yellow cast its lull over me as I found self seated on the cold stone bench with her. Yes, she was there beside for it was she who had me called there.
The hot wind, the dim noon, the deserted campus all had in them a strange sense that was making me dread an unknown. The very same unknown that had crept upon her beside. She was quite. As was I. For what she needed, she had spoken. She had come in a splendid red, with a big cheery smile pasted upon. I came and greeted her. And then it had happened. She held my hand and said things that it seemed she could no longer keep self from having told. She paused. Held self bold and then asked for my reply. I gave mine. And it took the wind out of her being, the smile out her lips, the twinkle out her eyes and the joy out her self.
The environment around rolled and roiled in the turbid weather. Her lips quivered every now and then. She no more looked at me. She held her gaze down, on the ground. As if by magic, she willed all her splendid splendour to be morphed into a sordid agony. A dull heavy gloom permeated her self and effulged off about. And in place of the sprinkle of joy that her pleasant presence would bequeath, I could feel but the unpleasant burden of sadness.
Her nose reddened slowly and her cheeks went flushed. There remained quiet, silence between us in that rumbling turbulent environ. The slick of tear that lined her eyes welled into a pool, and with a blink of her lid, slid down from the lateral canthus down onto her cheeks and rolled on and on till the bottom of her face. And it paused a moment, as if in hesitance, then dropped off into the air till in landed on her shirt leaving a trail on her face and a moistened spot on her shirt.
I felt a shudder shook my being. I never saw her cry. And never did I ever hope that I would make her some day. I felt sad. I felt gloom drown my being. But I felt helpless. It wasn’t my doing. But yet I was the reason for it. And her sadness was making me in turn. It was so profound that I wanted to disappear from there and never return. I indeed wanted to. But then that would mean leaving her there alone. I knew not what was to be done.
Then the wind stilled. The surrounding began to feel cold. And drops of rain as if to hide her tears started to strike down upon her, upon me and all around. It quickened. It then started to pour. I have liked rain, always. And I did today too. I rose up. I wanted to help the person beside. I wanted to wipe the wetness off her cheeks. I wanted to make her happy again. But today, this once, I wasn’t, rather couldn’t be of any help. I wasn’t supposed to be her’s.
I gave her one long last look. She looked back as if asking me to not leave. But I needed to. I walked off away from her. And on my way away, I held all my impulse to turn back, to walk back, to bade good bye…