The Sixth Day (Part 1)

Day 0

Well, technically it was day 0 since the rendezvous was not supposed to happen until tomorrow. But as luck would have it, the fortuitous meeting happened twenty four hours in advance. When you have not seen someone for a long long time, the mind tends to conjure up a certain image – an image that is often too good to be true. But not in this case. As his heart jumped beats leading up to the fateful hour, the image became all the more blurred, not because of any cerebral defects he might have picked up along the way, but because of the boding nervousness that crippled him as the clock ticked. Till it was about time.

The rendezvous point was not a planned one, just like their lives hitherto. However, the splendor of nature does not lie in its structure but in its asymmetry. Entropy always sets up random patterns of magnificence, and this time it did so with the venue of their reunion – the same bank they used to bank with, before they knew each other. Of course, the fact that the bank was razed down in lockstep with their engagement did not allow them to be bank buddies anymore. But there was more to this meeting than boring chequebooks and currency notes. As he took the nervous steps by the hedge, she saw the dazzling red dress and instantly knew it was her – shading her eyes with her hands, the million dollar smile on her face. His nervousness plumbed to new depths as the steps turned slower and unsure. An awkward hug followed, his nerves had never jangled more.

A few hours later, as they were sitting in the coffee house – he could not take his eyes off her. Days had turned into months, and months into years, but she had not changed – her banter was still lively and her smile still possessed the power to set his heart racing, again and again and again. He was looking for words to make conversation.

“I am really worried about my promotion. I hope everything works out for the best”, she pre-empted him.

“You seem to have a moustache”, was what came out of his mouth, much to her embarrassment and his bewilderment. “Did I just say that”, he made a mental note to kick himself once sane. She blushed and hid her face. He tried to make up with some petty compliments but the damage had been done. As she hid her face with her upturned palms, he exclaimed ,”Only one of your hands has nail paint”. He was on a roll, or rather his tongue was, as it wagged for the second time on its own volition. “What am I doing? What am I saying?”, he questioned himself as he sat dazed on a chair that he wished could now descend a few feet below the level ground it rested on.

She stood up and left.