Unlike any other …

Theirs was a love story unlike any other.

It had begun with a bump; an unexpected brush of their shoulders on the corner of a road. No one had seen her stumble, and no one had seen him catch her wrist a moment before she would have hit the ground. There was silence after, neither wanting to blame the other for what had happened.

“I’m sorry,” they had said, at the same time. They had stood there after, their cheeks flushed red at how they had thought and said the same thing together. They shared just that moment before her friend came from around the corner muttering a hurried apology and ushering her away before he could even ask her name.

It was serendipitous that they met again. At that very corner. She seemed to be alone again, and trying hard to ignore that he was walking toward her. She smiled when he said hello, and let him take her hand. A flyer was clutched tightly in the other. It was where she wanted to go that made him feel it was destiny that they met. He took her there, to the poetry contest happening in the park, the one he was going to as well. And with a few words, they fell in love.

~!*!~

That was then. Two years ago. Today, they had sat on a blanket in the park, watching many others try their hand at winning the contest. She had looked most beautiful in a white dress, her head resting on his shoulders, lost in thought and lost for verse. When he saw her fingers pause, unsure of her next word, he had read his aloud, egging her on.

sunshine on my neck,
the warmth of your eyes,
it brings me joy, brings hope
that past all my obstacles,
over gloomy mists, I can rise.

on the grass so green,
a drop of colorless dew,
such beauty is very rare,
and its admirers, very few;
but the prettiest of all,
is a little flower, wallflower,
she, my dearest, is you.

a butterfly flits around you,
its wings black and white,
its shadow on your eyes,
like a bride’s veil, so light.
let your muse take wings,
like that butterfly so small,
for what you shall write,
I know, will be the best of all.

hear the children shout,
feel, in their voices, your joy,
go back in time, two years,
when you met this little boy.
at the corner of that street,
think of your hand in mine,
think I’m still guiding you,
and write a verse so fine.

like last year, on this day,
I know you shall win again,
see in your heart so true,
let your fingers dance now,
don’t fret, my dear dearest,
know that I believe in you.

She had cried. Then wiped her tears and given him a wan smile. And he had looked at her with a smile too.

“Sorry. I know you hate it, but that was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me. I must look dreadful now,” she had said, then given his hand a squeeze.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, Rita. One day, you’ll see it too. So don’t ever cry.”

Later, she had called out to him, sure at last about something she had never felt before.

“Parag. Parag, I love you. I love you with all my heart!”

But he had not heard her words, just as she had never seen him walk away toward the judges with their poems.

He was her eyes, and she was his sound.

Theirs was a love story unlike any other.


Shared with Write Tribe (Prompt: She looked most beautiful).


(29th January 2014)

Poetry & writing to me are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.

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