An ending of my choice.

Corridor meetings and stolen glances were a common occurrence in their four years, together. (Together here, not meaning the companionship but just existing in the same time and institution of two people) They walked past each other quietly and sometimes stayed for a quiet hello. That hello always meant business, with him representing a society or she , asking him if he was interested in fund raising. Having stated the purpose both walked away in resigned acceptance of the fact that they had nothing to say to each other. Like you go near the fountain and immerse your hand in the cool water but are scared to dive head long into the pool beneath.
He was scared to ask her out, scared of the things that could go wrong, scared of the nagging feeling that the quiet surface withheld tremendous storms under it, he was scared to take a dip into a person, he knew, was far more than just surface, scared of the things that could go wrong, of the things he could do wrong, to her.

These unspoken boundaries stayed till the last day he saw her. There were balloons and confetti, there were hats and gowns, and a graduation ceremony. Amidst the crowd was a girl in blue, distinguished in her quietness which was a striking contrast to her shining black eyes.

A temporary look at her, like a fish flashing silver beneath the surface just for a second, made his heart resonate with an impossible frequency.
He could swear she looked back, returning a gaze as intense as his had been but averted his eyes the moment he sensed the heat of her eyes on him. Not yet, he thought.
Cries of mirth changed into neat smiles for the photographs, morning took its steady course down the road to become evening and the ceremony ended.

Under the evening twilight, both of them walked away from the building they had studied in for four years, with two degrees and a profound incompleteness.

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It was as if she had disappeared. There wasn't a magazine he hadn't read he knew she used to write for. He dutifully attended the fund raisings organized by his old institution but there was no news of her. He even tried to ask the girls he had seen her with but with no success, everybody was just as clueless as he was. Apparently, she did not have any close friends to speak of.

Then one day , over a bottle of wine and some non-addressed love letters, he gave up on her !

His mother wanted him to get married and he wanted a fixed point in his life. The wedding happened in a rush and he came to be content with the woman in his life with time.

Yet a fleeting sensation, like the fleeting glimpse of a face in the crowd mingling into thousands of people the next moment, a thought struck him. No woman would have the refinement of character that she had.
It struck him hard.
Being with her would have been like drawing water from a well whose supply would never end up. He could never get enough of her, everything about her seemed to run so deep into herself. Her thoughts well-reasoned, her choices well-made, she was eccentric and had opinions for her eccentric-ism. It was the biggest appeal for any man in the world, a woman he would not get enough of.

And it had been better than just fantasies for him. She had returned his gaze and most of the time, he was sure he had not imagined it. She had spoken to him in a form of communication some deep recesses in his mind had perceived.

Yet, he had let her gone by. But the scent of that woman had stayed and it rejuvenated each time he drew his wife close to him.  He could catch a whiff in the air of the rose essence she wore with the red dress..when she had asked him about a fund raising for school...or hospital, what was it?

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I am at the Munich airport waiting for my flight when i see her.
She is an arm-length away from me, this nominal distance between us is satire to the emotional turmoil inside of me. I can extend my hand and pull her in my embrace if i like. Though i am seeing her face after 11 years and a half, it looks like some part of me has always remained stuck there in a world, where she was the woman in my life, where i had wanted to wake up each morning to find her pretty face smiling upto me, her lean arms propped on my tweety-bird pillow, she, in a silken gown of my choice, her aura of pride somewhat receded by the knowledge of our intimacy, that there was someone privy to her deepest secrets, someone who knew about the secret moles on her godly body. Someone who had sipped from the storehouse of passion she hid behind her serene personality...
 All that is my imagination , of course. She is as untouched and preserved as she had been  in another time , and on my part, the desire to conquer her is stronger than before.

I turn to my side as if responding to an invisible, divine call and our eyes entangle.

Tremendous power of a strong gaze cannot be denied.According to Physicists,you can move objects if you focus too hard. Mystics say it is possible to bore holes into your spirit with a glance, you can take life, change someone, make hate, make love.  What she does is , all of them at the same time. There's so much emotion that my knees go weak. I open my mouth to speak but i find myself looking hard at two jet black diamonds embedded in serene white pools, my mouth hanging open like a gaping fish.

You would say I should bridle my thoughts running wild like a mad horse. I have a son and a wife and my heart is brimming with passion for another woman, the one who has no right on me yet challenges all the rights i have given my wife with just a look in my eye. It is not fair to my wife.
It is not fair to the home she has built with me and the beautiful kid she has given me.

But i will tell you something. I haven't been fair to myself either, and i won't be  if i don't go upto her and fall at her feet right now. If i don't hold her and infuse into her what i feel, somehow convert the unspoken words into memories of us.

-There's a woman on the intercom, i cannot hear too clearly but it must be the announcement about the flight i had to take.-

Her lips are curved slightly, at a very vague indication of a very faint smile. I can count the laugh lines.

-I can hear my name being called , a far-away sound, fading, fading..-

Her nose is pert,  and there is a black ring hugging her nose , i wan't to pull it off and kiss the sides of her nose without the uncomfortable feeling of metal against my skin.

-Maybe its my phone buzzing. Maybe its my wife..my wife? What is my wife, next to my life, next to me?-

Her eyes are as resonant as before. But now, there is a seductive touch of sorrow in their depth. I am saddened, not seduced. I want to know what made her sad?

-There's a man  behind me coughing politely-

Her eyes are shifting. The color is draining, the shine is materialising into stony hardness..Her gaze is averted.

-I turn back abruptly. The man behind me points to my phone on the floor. 'Wife calling' flashes on the screen.
A woman, faraway, is calling my attention.
A woman next to me holds my life in her hands

The muscles in the neck are tensed. Her shoulders protracted, head held up high. She is an epitome of elegance even in turmoil.

-' Lets go' Gruff voice from the man behind me.But, the man? Why would he speak to HER like this? There is something like shattering glass..inside my chest-

Her eyes are closed. The oyster has hidden its pearl.
A tear marks a trail across her chiselled cheeks.
A remnant of the pearl, is thrown out of the oyster.

I dive to absorb it in my thumb, i am ready to dive head long into the pool today, unafraid of the consequences.
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