She sat for eons, waiting. Waiting for a look, a scent, a smile. The same face, the confident stride, the easy rebellion in his ways. It was the first time they were meeting after 25 years.
The waiting room of an airport probably has more stories than any other place in the world, if we discount hospitals.
Stories of peace, stories of turmoil.
Stories of patient waiting and stories of cruel rejections.
Stories, of happy beginnings and melancholic endings.
Stories of lives earned and lives made.
Of all the killers present on this planet, time kills the fastest and easiest. It leaves no traces and buries everything that stands in its wake. It takes severe perseverance to remember that, which time wants us to forget. Their story was one that had stood the test of time. Love had triumphed, every single time.
She remembered the time when they were careless teenagers, casually trashing the love which was one that belonged to centuries of struggle, to be one and shine in their common glow. It is easy to take for granted that which has not been realized yet. She remembered the time when they pined for each other, desperately fighting to stay afloat, pushing hard against the obstacles life threw at them; like running an endless hurdle race. Their challenges were myriad, but love only needs one reason to stay.
She remembered those endless days and nights which threatened to dry her of every tear, every spark of motivation. She remembered how a single fleeting memory of them giggling at her cooking skills, or the lack of it, almost breathed life into her again. She fondly remembered his puppy eyes when he knew he had pushed the envelope too far. She remembered with a slight twinge of guilt, the day she finally walked out of all relationships in the civilized world for love.
She paced restlessly in the corridors of the waiting lounge. Did he still look the same, boyish charms intact and a knee weakening smile? Did he still ramble like an idiot in unexpected circumstances and admire with the most passionate stare, almost like he was looking through her soul? Who knew? Waiting for a beloved is like sitting on a gas stove. You might have been there for a minute, but it always feels more than that. Time teases, like bare fingers on bare skin, taunting and inviting; you have no option but to surrender.
At long last, there he was. The same face, the confident stride, the easy rebellion in his ways. The same lopsided smile; but this time, accompanied with a sense of relief. At finally having found home. Home, in the eyes of the woman he loved all his life without ever expecting or realizing the depth of her love for him. But then again, love has a way of finding its way back. Life had taught him many hard lessons; the hardest among them being leaving this woman in search of other things that could have waited. It took a lifetime to get back, and how. She was his home, his heart, the beginning of his existence and the end of his useless ambitions. Loving her meant being awake and alert all the time; she was that kind of girl who lit up his senses on fire.
And that night, words were far too less to convey what the heart-felt. They believed once again, with closed eyes. A lifetime got spent seeing and disbelieving.
Picture credits: Some Things Michaela Made