It was a bright day in April when she stepped out of the house with a cloud of unrest heaving on her heart. She’d been restless since the night before; she couldn’t understand why. All she could comprehend of the turmoil of emotions within her was that she needed to see him. How he held the key to release her of this restlessness was something she could not understand, and yet she knew.
She reached the station and her eyes began their hungry search. When he walked in from the station entrance, her grip on her handbag tightened by a microscopic measure; her knees felt weak. Every time she looked at him, she fell in love with him a little more; her heart broke a little more.
He reached the platform and his gaze met hers. And turned away soon after. Each breath lodged in her throat for a little while longer and her chest felt heavy as she struggled to breathe; she could hear the pounding of her heart loud and clear.
The train alighted and she boarded; his reluctance in boarding the train registered with her as did every minute detail that defined him – his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his strong arms, where she longed to spend the rest of her life. What if he did not board? She’d die if he did not. To her relief, he boarded the train after a brief glance in her direction.
It was the video coach. He got a seat by the window, in the first class general compartment, and she stood by the door in the ladies compartment, diagonally opposite him. The restlessness of the night before subsided a little, like she had known it would, and the familiar hurt of being ignored replaced it. She’d felt like this several times now; she was so used to the feeling that it was more comforting than the unknown restlessness. After all, the hurt, though painful, was what connected her to him.
It hurts when you love somebody you cannot have; she knew how unbearable that pain could be. And yet it held a pleasure she couldn’t describe. She knew they could never be together, and yet in moments like these, she felt like she belonged to him and, in spite of every truth that surrounded him, he belonged to her.
Her eyes never left his face; his never turned to look at hers. In her heart, she pleaded with him to spare her one glance, one memory, one reminder that, though for just a few moments, she’d been a part of his life, his thoughts. But he never once turned to look at her. Her heart filled with anguish as she thought of the days when she was all he looked at, tears beginning to form at the back of her eyes.
She reached her destination and turned around to look at him once again. His eyes were still fixed on something outside the window. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She turned away, not allowing him the pleasure of watching her crumble.
In that moment, she did not see the single tear that rolled down his cheek.
That day in April, she would remember it as the last time she saw him…