She was dressed in her usual attire, the cotton well-draped saree, dangling earrings, big bindi, and kajal that made her eyes look stunning.
I arrived late, she was waiting anxiously, her fingers tapping on the mobile on the table and her eyes searching for a known face.
Beautiful, she looked like a new bride—unsure, not so confident, trying to manage a thousand thoughts and expectations, and surviving every moment with a trembling yet steady step. This was the first time we were to meet. I had seen her picture but had not sent her mine. Call it a blind date, well, at least for her. I waited a few more seconds before approaching her, wondering what I should say or if I should meet her today or leave her to wonder and torture her a day more before actually meeting her in person.
I contemplated that, looking at her, I guess much like a stalker, because I figured she was looking at me; actually, she was staring back at me with a pair of eyes that spoke a thousand words per second and were trying to read my thoughts, maybe. I gave a faint smile, still trying to figure out… Do I really need to meet her, make her a part of the game, will she play along or get played—worst, will I get played?
She shifted her gaze from me to someone else, probably wondering if that other person was me. I waited there for some time more, her naïve, beautiful young face still boasted of being untouched; her stare still announced she was way too young to play along or play me…
It was late on all accounts for me to call her and tell her let’s cancel. Abandoning her was not something I wanted to do, and yet something deep down screamed in my heart:
Release her…
a new story each time... 