The grey wall

They walk on opposite sides of the road, head bowed, eyes glued on their phones. There is nothing better to see anyway, down the alley they are in, but the dirty grey walls that flank the sides like broken soldiers back from a war.

She believes that the wall next to her is ugly, a horrible shade of grey, a million cracks like spider webs criss-crossing each other. Spiders, as her nose twists upwards, are disgusting.

She has never noticed his existence on the other side of the road, despite taking the same route since primary school. She can neither remember what he looks like, as he seems so plain and just, so normal. They have never spoken, not even once, not a single greeting in the past 10 years. He was just like a random stranger she would pass on a road, just to be forgotten.

Yet the very next day, he begins to walk on the same side of the road as her. She glances behind quickly, and she sees him trailing behind her. Speeding up her pace, she soon realises that he has also begin to walk faster. His head is turned towards his left, at her direction.

She flinches, but stumbles forward. He is now touching the unclean grey wall. What is he doing, she thinks, her eyes narrowing. Close to running forward, she moves ahead with him following closely behind, but while she gives the wall a wide berth, he seems to be pressing closer and closer into the wall.

"What are you doing?" She stops and turns, panting for breath. He is still looking longingly at the wall, placing his hand on it.

"My dear, do not you see the beauty of the cracks, the precise grey shade of the wall. Cannot you see the intricate beauty of the mundane monochromatic wall?" He gushes, grabbing her hand tightly.

"Get you dirty hand of me!" She screams, removing her hand from his then shaking it violently as if to get the invisible dirt off it. "It is a stupid grey wall, what else can you see in it? A picture, a shape, a symbol?" She questions vigorously, her disbelief obvious from the creases on her face. "Please," she says as she turns away, leaving him staring forlornly at the insulted grey wall.

*******

Her warm touch on his hand leaves an impression in his mind. Yet, the temperature of her hand is no indicator of the coldness of her heart. She cannot see the beauty in the mundane, cannot understand the patterns the wall draws before her. But she will understand, he thinks as he sees her leave in a hurry.

The very next day, he walks on the same side of the road again, trailing behind her. The wall seems different again, and so does she. Moving more quickly than the day before, she is nearly past the wall when he taps her shoulder.

"What do you want again?" She turns and demands, her arms akimbo, her face flushed.

"Can't you appreciate the simple things, like this wall. And like, this little bit of soil stuck in this tiny hairline crack." He says, rubbing the minute amount of soil from a crack between his fingers.

Her eyes converge on the grains of sand and her nose twitches upwards once again. "Gross," he hears her say under her breath, then she runs away from him like the plague.

Hence, he is determined to make her see the little things in her life. At first, she is weary of him, but slowly she realises that he is just a harmless boy, abeit a little annoying. Yet, she never seems to believe him, frequently spurning his good intentions.

The weeks pass, but she still doesn't see the light at the end of the figurative tunnel. However, he has never given up hope, but continues to follow her home and talk to her.

The soil in the wall has a seed in it. And after the weeks that pass, a little sprout has germinated. It's first green leaf has appeared, he notices.

"Hey, there. Notice this little leaf. You see, even in the smallest of cracks, in such a harsh environment to be in, a seed can still germinate!" He gushes excitedly at her, grabbing her hand without thinking.

For once, surprisingly, she does not flinch at his touch, but instead continues to hold on to his hand. Yet, she is still a little disdainful at his comment. "It's still just a sprout, it could just die tomorrow," she counteracts, yet her words, unlike the first encounter, are not spoken with as much force and belief. It is almost like she is bending over to his side, almost close enough to see the will of the little sprout to thrive and grow.

"Oh no, I have to go right now. See you!" She announces as she checks her watch then turns away. He stares at her disappearing figure in the light, and for once, he realises, he is looking longingly at her rather than at the forlorn grey wall.

*******

Slowly by slowly, the sprout develops more leaves and many weeks later, it produces a flower. A small red flower, a significant contrast against the grey wall that does not seem as grey as before.

"I knew it, I knew it would grow well," he says, smiling widely at her.

Stooping down, she lifts her hand to examine the flower. "Don't pull it too hard!" He exclaims as she is about to lift the flower out by its puny roots, hence stopping her hands from doing the deed.

"But, I don't understand how?" She stand up again, hands on her hips. "There's barely any soil in this crack, and so little rain gets in here, so how does it survive?"

"It is because," he says grabbing her hand, "it has a powerful will to thrive even in the harshest of condition, grow in the worst of places, survive in face of hardships. Do not you see the beauty and power of mother Nature? Can you see it now?" He shakes her hand violently in excitement.

She is unsure for a moment, but she soon breaks out in a smile. "Perhaps, you are right, you little strange creature. Perhaps, this is why they say men are from mars and women from venus." She toys with his hand, then drops it again, grinning all the while.

She walks toward the wall, spreading her hands onto its once-thought dirty surface. "Tell me," she asks him, "what do you here?" Bending down to stare at the largest crack, she wiggles her finger into it.

He smiles the largest smile she has ever seen and he bends down to her eye level. "Patterns," he says, staring right into her eyes. "Do not you see the intricacies in the cracks, the regularity in some parts, or the total random chaos in some sections? Do you not see the beauty of it all?" He has said similar things a million times before, and once again, he will say it for the new love of his life.

Suddenly, she sees what he sees, and the wall blooms with shapes and symbols and patterns. Beauty radiates from the centre and blossoms into the furthest nooks and crannies. As she stares straight at the wall, she realises that its shade of grey was not as simple as she thought it was.

She understands, and her heart feels lighter. "Have we really gone past the stage of friendship?" She laughs jokingly, flicking her hair behind her.

"Perhaps we have," he laughs in return, his job finally done.

Holding hands, they walk home together on the same side of the road, catching looks at each other every so often, acknowledging each other's existence. And when they turn back to look at the wall, it seems to be in a brighter, more positive shade of grey.

Perhaps, it knows that a relationship had been started due to it.