"I haven't been this happy in a long time", he said, looking deep into her eyes in the car.
The prelude to the date were the few conversations they had. Light, breezy, easy. But then, she had always been an easy conversationalist.
The phone calls became frequent. She could almost hear the clicks on the other end, the reluctant tone when they had to hang up the phone, the quick sigh when the date wouldn't arrive soon enough; but arrive, it did. All too soon, she thought.
As she stepped on the foyer of the popular coffee shop, she clutched her stomach lightly. No butterflies, she mused. "The date was pre-arranged, we spoke earlier to match wavelengths, the butterflies will come". justified a small rational voice she hadn't heard in a while. He came in, all smiles and charm and gave her a once-over. She looked at his crooked smile and freshly shaved face and gave a small smile back. The awkwardness lasted for a few minutes, giving way to the same easy conversation, breezy flirtation and chuckling at the brazen suggestiveness. He was a gentleman with undertones of naughtiness, a combination she loved. What was better was the gift that he gave - thoughtful and represented her in every way. "How many times I've dreamt someone would give me something like this" she thought, accepting the hand-made box it came in. "To think he took the time out to make this for me!" She clutched her stomach again, waiting for the butterflies.
Coffee ran over to dinner and the conversation continued. He couldn't take his eyes off her, his glances more appreciative with each passing minute. She had to look away from the intensity in his gaze. His protectiveness was sweet, his "accidental brushes" were tentative, the mile long walk back to the car after dinner, planned. He took her hand like it was the most natural thing to do and she let him. Holding hands, they walked along the road. The night was obliging, breezy, without too many people out. Even the moon was supportive - a bright orange ball, peeking out of the inky clouds, washing them in its light. The laughs were easier, quicker.
"Can we talk for a while?" He asked hesitantly. She shrugged, "Sure." He raised his hands almost like waving a wand and brushed stray hair out of her forehead. She shivered.
In the car, he switched on the music and Billy Joel serenaded them. He sat there, humming along with Billy, his voice in perfect synchronization. He launched into some of his favorite songs, his beautiful voice washing over her. "I haven't been this happy in a long time", he said, looking deep into her eyes.
She clutched her stomach again.
He caressed her arms and she looked down at the tiny flecks of hair on her hand, lying flat.
"We should write a poem. You write one line, I'll write the next" his eyes shone with the sudden inspiration and enthusiasm. "although I can't match your language..." he chuckled and stopped abruptly. He saw something on her face. She didn't know what the expression on her face was, she was busy trying to drown out the ringing in her ears.
"What is this?" she asked, grinning. She knew exactly what it was and she couldn't wait to start.
"It's a line." "Just a line?" she grinned, wider now. "If you wrote the next line and this continued, I would have a beautiful poem to give you during lunch apart from my awesome humor" he said, wryly. "Let's get started then." They wrote furiously, line after line, like a dance building into a crecendo. When the end loomed, she bit her lip in concentration, piecing both their minds as one. As promised, he brought it along with him. Oh, and his awesome humor.
"We don't have to write anything, it was just a suggestion, we could write it later..." he trailed off apologetically. "Yea...later..." she mumbled.
He took her hand again, making small circles with the pad of his thumb on her fingers. She spoke quicker now, withdrawing her hands and gesturing to make her point. He leaned in a little to test waters and she waited, frozen. Chopin was playing in the background, his piano sounds suddenly too loud for the car. She looked on, frozen, willing herself to close her eyes. She looked at his soft, pink lips and imagined him kissing her.
She touched her frozen face and clutched her stomach harder.
"It's late, we should go." she said. The moment was lost. She sighed quickly and got out of the car. Just as she closed the gate and watched him wave cheerily, she realized the sigh was that of relief.
She rushed to the mirror and replayed the moment he asked to write a poem and watched her expression carefully. She looked wilted, aged. The light in her eyes disappeared like a switch. As it was before, the drop in her stomach was that of lead falling through, tearing her insides.
She stared at her hand, the absence of goosebumps more apparent now. She let go of her stomach, letting go of the butterflies that wouldn't come. She stared at the tissue paper that he had twisted into a swan, her namesake, twisting it on her hand in wonder and crushed it in her palm in one, swift motion. The ringtone played, signalling a message recieved. "It was one of the most special nights of my life. You are beautiful and I miss you already" it read. On autopilot, she placed the phone in her purse and zipped it shut.
When she closed her eyes in frustration, a paper fluttered at the corner of her mind, peeking, looking out for a way to prominence in her scattered thoughts. She quickly looked around and found what she wanted. As she poured the contents of her cough syrup on a teaspoon, her phone rang again. "I can't sleep, I can't stop thinking about you" the message read.
"Baby, I don't want to keep the phone"
"I don't want to either"
She downed the syrup in the teaspoon and took a long sip of water. She willed her mind blank and looked at the ticking clock, knowing she had 10 minutes before the syrup took effect. She saw the minute hand crawl and exactly ten minutes later, she fell into a deep sleep.
The prelude to the date were the few conversations they had. Light, breezy, easy. But then, she had always been an easy conversationalist.
The phone calls became frequent. She could almost hear the clicks on the other end, the reluctant tone when they had to hang up the phone, the quick sigh when the date wouldn't arrive soon enough; but arrive, it did. All too soon, she thought.
As she stepped on the foyer of the popular coffee shop, she clutched her stomach lightly. No butterflies, she mused. "The date was pre-arranged, we spoke earlier to match wavelengths, the butterflies will come". justified a small rational voice she hadn't heard in a while. He came in, all smiles and charm and gave her a once-over. She looked at his crooked smile and freshly shaved face and gave a small smile back. The awkwardness lasted for a few minutes, giving way to the same easy conversation, breezy flirtation and chuckling at the brazen suggestiveness. He was a gentleman with undertones of naughtiness, a combination she loved. What was better was the gift that he gave - thoughtful and represented her in every way. "How many times I've dreamt someone would give me something like this" she thought, accepting the hand-made box it came in. "To think he took the time out to make this for me!" She clutched her stomach again, waiting for the butterflies.
Coffee ran over to dinner and the conversation continued. He couldn't take his eyes off her, his glances more appreciative with each passing minute. She had to look away from the intensity in his gaze. His protectiveness was sweet, his "accidental brushes" were tentative, the mile long walk back to the car after dinner, planned. He took her hand like it was the most natural thing to do and she let him. Holding hands, they walked along the road. The night was obliging, breezy, without too many people out. Even the moon was supportive - a bright orange ball, peeking out of the inky clouds, washing them in its light. The laughs were easier, quicker.
"Can we talk for a while?" He asked hesitantly. She shrugged, "Sure." He raised his hands almost like waving a wand and brushed stray hair out of her forehead. She shivered.
In the car, he switched on the music and Billy Joel serenaded them. He sat there, humming along with Billy, his voice in perfect synchronization. He launched into some of his favorite songs, his beautiful voice washing over her. "I haven't been this happy in a long time", he said, looking deep into her eyes.
She clutched her stomach again.
He caressed her arms and she looked down at the tiny flecks of hair on her hand, lying flat.
"We should write a poem. You write one line, I'll write the next" his eyes shone with the sudden inspiration and enthusiasm. "although I can't match your language..." he chuckled and stopped abruptly. He saw something on her face. She didn't know what the expression on her face was, she was busy trying to drown out the ringing in her ears.
"What is this?" she asked, grinning. She knew exactly what it was and she couldn't wait to start.
"It's a line." "Just a line?" she grinned, wider now. "If you wrote the next line and this continued, I would have a beautiful poem to give you during lunch apart from my awesome humor" he said, wryly. "Let's get started then." They wrote furiously, line after line, like a dance building into a crecendo. When the end loomed, she bit her lip in concentration, piecing both their minds as one. As promised, he brought it along with him. Oh, and his awesome humor.
"We don't have to write anything, it was just a suggestion, we could write it later..." he trailed off apologetically. "Yea...later..." she mumbled.
He took her hand again, making small circles with the pad of his thumb on her fingers. She spoke quicker now, withdrawing her hands and gesturing to make her point. He leaned in a little to test waters and she waited, frozen. Chopin was playing in the background, his piano sounds suddenly too loud for the car. She looked on, frozen, willing herself to close her eyes. She looked at his soft, pink lips and imagined him kissing her.
She touched her frozen face and clutched her stomach harder.
"It's late, we should go." she said. The moment was lost. She sighed quickly and got out of the car. Just as she closed the gate and watched him wave cheerily, she realized the sigh was that of relief.
She rushed to the mirror and replayed the moment he asked to write a poem and watched her expression carefully. She looked wilted, aged. The light in her eyes disappeared like a switch. As it was before, the drop in her stomach was that of lead falling through, tearing her insides.
She stared at her hand, the absence of goosebumps more apparent now. She let go of her stomach, letting go of the butterflies that wouldn't come. She stared at the tissue paper that he had twisted into a swan, her namesake, twisting it on her hand in wonder and crushed it in her palm in one, swift motion. The ringtone played, signalling a message recieved. "It was one of the most special nights of my life. You are beautiful and I miss you already" it read. On autopilot, she placed the phone in her purse and zipped it shut.
When she closed her eyes in frustration, a paper fluttered at the corner of her mind, peeking, looking out for a way to prominence in her scattered thoughts. She quickly looked around and found what she wanted. As she poured the contents of her cough syrup on a teaspoon, her phone rang again. "I can't sleep, I can't stop thinking about you" the message read.
"Baby, I don't want to keep the phone"
"I don't want to either"
She downed the syrup in the teaspoon and took a long sip of water. She willed her mind blank and looked at the ticking clock, knowing she had 10 minutes before the syrup took effect. She saw the minute hand crawl and exactly ten minutes later, she fell into a deep sleep.
