His arrival

She was standing alongside the sea-shore; solitary .Zephyr steadily brushed the wisps of dangly-loose tresses off her dimpled cheek. It was one of those fierce-windy days. Her frilled-frock would oscillate about in different directions as she tugged to keep it still. Little hairs on her face had stood erect forever now. She would part her lips now and then to let in some saline air, cleanse her throat. It was piercing but a bittersweet cold. She had folded each of her arms over the other holding tightly onto her puny-torso. Her thumb would solemnly slide over her forearm, fondling the hairs in a longitudinal manner. Her eyes had stagnated on a distant ship. The ship just wouldn’t budge an inch .As a matter of fact, nor would she. By the looks of it, it occurred to her that the ship looked like it was a Schooner. Schooner or sometimes known as Barque, is a pirate ship, a small one but popular. Owing to its compactness, it could be easily maneuverable. It was fast hence allowing the attackers to surprise the hosts of other grand ships. But schooners were seldom abandoned. This one looked ancient but sturdy to her. She led her thoughts wander off to The Neverland. A giant wave swept her feet clean. She returned back to reality with a soft-sigh. The sun was still above her shining its radiations all over the sea. The sand glistened with tiny shells and colorful plastic wrappers. The yellow light perched quietly above all waves and ripples. Cranky-crabs disturbingly slid sideways into the wet sand through tiny holes they made instantly. She realized the beach just had two major colors – sea green/blue and beige/caramel. Occasionally, a seagull would perturb her deep flow of thought and she would jerk herself back to actuality. Suddenly, she began feeling overly conscious of her petty demeanor. She navigated her palm to the back of her neck and then shoved it to her chin and rested it there. She had her dark locks braided into two French plaits that reached a little below her shoulders. She had anchored multiple bobby pins into her braids to secure them. Some hairs had been deliberately pulled out to define the diamond-shaped countenance. Some mischievous strands at the nape of her neck were permitted to play-astray. The neck itself was continually choked by a posh Choker. She had adorned a crimson-red frock that extended along the shin. The frills ornamented the dress nicely. Her hands were bare except for a dainty ring that had but one violet colored stone embedded. Her gladiator sandals had been parked beside her just a foot away or so. One could catch a whiff of oriental scent on her that had been sprinkled an hour ago. A modest smile frolicked around her cheekbones. Those cinnamon shaded eyes blinked twice every thirty seconds.

They met exactly three years ago at a bus-stand where the two of them were simply seeking shelter from the pounding rain. Soon, they discovered that they weren’t just seeking shelter but something more. They weren’t the only ones under the bus-stand. Slowly, the gathering disappeared and scattered away as the rain came to a halt. He would take quick glances of her unknowingly as she massaged the cemented pillar behind her back. Many a times she would catch him red-handed looking at her. Swiftly, he would shudder and gaze elsewhere. After 36 minutes and 3 seconds later, she rotated her head fully to face him and said ‘Bye’ and vanished speedily from his sight. He stood there for a bit in awe. Her voice rang in his head. He thought of her ‘Bye’ much too frequently now. He longed to have a sight of her again. He would often think of that little woman in her peach clothing, her loose wet hair sticking to her face, her body quivering due to the chilly winds, her cheeks that had a hint of blush, her sound of exhaling deeply. How habitually he would travel to the same bus-stand to catch a glimpse of her. A week passed, two weeks passed. A month passed away in a jiffy. He would drink homemade rum on rainy days writing a piece of poetry. Two months passed after this sweet encounter. One fine sunny afternoon, when he was returning from work, he hurriedly bumped his motor-cycle onto a camouflaged boulder. He went “Aah-aah, Ooh-Ooh” and pranced about holding his knee in agony. He filled the whole valley resonating with his sounds. Someone marched up behind him and spoke softly. ”Are you okay? “ The look on that person’s face was intense and was of worry. She bent to him and lent him her plump hand. He verily accepted the offer and clasped his left hand into her right hand. By a push of his right hand from the earth, they both stood erect. She went to his stranded motor-cycle and he followed her. Both heaved it and it bolted upright. “Are you hurt anywhere?” asked she. He swayed his head like a snake. She nodded skeptically and walked away from him. He saw her going away but would utter nothing. He just tarried there. He pedaled his vehicle home. When life gives you lemon, you make lemonade. He is reminded of this very quote. He watched her walk away. The woman that he’d thought about for every single day for the past 60 days. That is 1440 hours altogether. He upset his head thinking again and again of his act of not making an attempt to know her or even stop her. He troubled his mind; he made termites eat every bit of his brain. He started growing insane. He thumped his fist into walls, banged his head onto wooden doors. He tortured himself for letting go of her! He refused to go to bed; he would empty his bottles of rum in few slugs. The veins of his eyes had gone blood-red. No normal person would meet him, for his eyes gleamed of a murderous intent. He had grown beard, he wouldn’t shave, he wouldn’t shower, he wouldn’t eat, he would go out of his room, and he would lay around in his bed like he was in half-coma. Some days, he would simply sit in his bathroom covering himself up in toilet paper. Then he would emerge out of his tomb like a mummy. This unruly behavior went on for a few days. His temperature had risen. His body had gone pale and cold. His neighbors called in a doctor when they heard his whimpers. Medicine was given, he was shifted into a well lit room, and he was taken well care of for the upcoming next weeks by his nurses who were sometimes just his humble neighbors. Soon, he got back in business and was flourishing like never again. Also, he developed a new hobby of that of a gardener. He sold flower pots, seeds, and flower bouquets which he intricately designed with the finest choice of orchids, lilies and pansies. Larkspurs were his favorite. Gorgeous women would walk in and take away gifts from him. One day, as he was decorating a vase of asters with some freshly plucked weeds, a sober little woman walked in and asked for a rose. He immediately recognized this tone and veered his head to see her. After much careful inspection, he declared to his heart that that wasn’t her girl. Oh, how he still yearned her. He placed his dusty hand on his chest and tried to calm his restless heart. Just then, the skies started drizzling. People rushed to his shed. A woman jostled her way inside the shop and wriggled herself into a corner. Her cheeks were all flushed. Tiny  droplets of rain trickled from her eyelashes. He went and stood beside her. She narrowed her eyelids to have a full view of him. She stuttered and somehow managed to get the words “Hello gentleman, we meet again” out of her mouth. He cleared his throat and greeted back. They broke the ice and found themselves chatting. The rain came to a halt; the man went inside and returned with a piece of paper. She smirked and left the place after bidding him adieu.

Exactly three years after, she opened the piece of chit again and made her way to the sea. She recapped all her silly doings three years ago. She recalled how her heart leapt in joy at the very sight of him, how often she wanted to hold his hands into hers. During rough times, she would want to hold him and sob as he stroked his fingers into her hairs. She would want to fight with him and make up with him the very same day. She remembered how much she saw herself with and in him. Sometimes, it was the only thing that brightened her up. With hope in her eyes, she dreamt to see him again. She opened her tightly clamped fist and let go of the chit that was bestowed to her three years back. The piece of paper fluttered and glided into the waters. She read the words clearly, once again as they hazed.

“Meet me at the Covelong Beach after three years now”

She swallowed air and closed her eyes briefly.