The Love Story of No One
Her hands opens for her face to rest, like a flower blooming for butterflies. Another hand holding phone to her ear, but she spoke no words.
Was she waiting for the receiver to pick up? Or was she just holding it because she needed something to do?
She was looking to her laptop, her eyes were not moving, she wouldn't have noticed if her eyelids covered those brown eyes entirely.
The soft light that peeks into the hall intermittently was playing with the moving leaves from the tree.
It was a quiet day in the hall, chatters were contained, filling only some parts of the room. Conversations at 2.00 pm are rarely interesting.
To 'how was your day' we would answer part-truth, part-hope. This was not a time for conclusions, but a time of trying.
How to be our best selves, how to not be left behind, and how to make her look back at me...
I sat two tables away, our tables had six seats each, the rest unfilled. We could have sat next to each other, we could have talked. But no.
A purple hairband rests at the top of her back hair, a modest colour to match her modest blouse. She must have good values, I thought.
I imagine her growing up in a suburban village where taking walks in the park with her parents is was she looked forward most.
Taught to be kind as first virtue in life. Maybe she was on the phone with someone her mum set her up with. Maybe that's why she's unhappy.
She folds her legs, and looks at me across the room. I pretend to be looking at an imaginary object beside her, the table - anything but her.
This was futile, she already knows I'm looking at her. Before I could smile at her, she returns to look at her laptop. No words still.
She looks at her phone, shuts her laptop, and waits for something to tell her what to do next.
I look at my food, the peas were scattered around the plate like a child's who is learning to use the fork. Forks are useless tools anyway.
The chips at the side of the plate were largely untouched. Unevenly cut, some slightly burnt.
Even when none of the chips reached my mouth, my throat felt dryer after seeing them, so I drink the whole cup of water at once.
With the big gulp, the painful sensation stayed for a few seconds, but I was a man, I could take it.
When I lift my head, the woman of good values was gone. I walk to where she sat to play a role I would've played if I'd the courage earlier.
How are you? I asked. Fine. She replied. 'Do you want to go out some time?'
[End]
Was she waiting for the receiver to pick up? Or was she just holding it because she needed something to do?
She was looking to her laptop, her eyes were not moving, she wouldn't have noticed if her eyelids covered those brown eyes entirely.
The soft light that peeks into the hall intermittently was playing with the moving leaves from the tree.
It was a quiet day in the hall, chatters were contained, filling only some parts of the room. Conversations at 2.00 pm are rarely interesting.
To 'how was your day' we would answer part-truth, part-hope. This was not a time for conclusions, but a time of trying.
How to be our best selves, how to not be left behind, and how to make her look back at me...
I sat two tables away, our tables had six seats each, the rest unfilled. We could have sat next to each other, we could have talked. But no.
A purple hairband rests at the top of her back hair, a modest colour to match her modest blouse. She must have good values, I thought.
I imagine her growing up in a suburban village where taking walks in the park with her parents is was she looked forward most.
Taught to be kind as first virtue in life. Maybe she was on the phone with someone her mum set her up with. Maybe that's why she's unhappy.
She folds her legs, and looks at me across the room. I pretend to be looking at an imaginary object beside her, the table - anything but her.
This was futile, she already knows I'm looking at her. Before I could smile at her, she returns to look at her laptop. No words still.
She looks at her phone, shuts her laptop, and waits for something to tell her what to do next.
I look at my food, the peas were scattered around the plate like a child's who is learning to use the fork. Forks are useless tools anyway.
The chips at the side of the plate were largely untouched. Unevenly cut, some slightly burnt.
Even when none of the chips reached my mouth, my throat felt dryer after seeing them, so I drink the whole cup of water at once.
With the big gulp, the painful sensation stayed for a few seconds, but I was a man, I could take it.
When I lift my head, the woman of good values was gone. I walk to where she sat to play a role I would've played if I'd the courage earlier.
How are you? I asked. Fine. She replied. 'Do you want to go out some time?'
[End]
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