Silent Encounters

by
HUDA Ansari

“Rats!”

She had stepped into a puddle again. And her gorgeous new pink shoes were now covered in mud. She knew she shouldn’t have worn them out on such a rainy Monday morning. But Nick had bought them for her from his first salary at his big office job and they were so pretty and perfectly complimented her little pink skirt. She did look like quite a doll if one were to ignore the mud stains. Petite frame, slender legs, flawless skin, big green eyes, blonde curly locks – it couldn’t get prettier than this.

She fumbled through the thousand contents of her handbag and finally found a tissue paper. She brushed her pink shoes off, and hurried on to the bus-stop.

“I can’t believe they are ruined. Oh Nick will be so disappointed in me! Why am I so clumsy?” she whined to herself as she waited at the bus-stop. And suddenly he was there, smiling and suddenly the mud on her fine shoes didn’t seem to matter.

The bus pulled over, there were only two seats left on it. Her heart fluttered as she hopped on inside, looking back to make sure he’d climb aboard too. He didn’t. He gave way to an elderly lady instead. She saddened a little. He told the driver he’d take the next bus. He smiled at her from outside as the bus sped off.

She reached home and put her wet umbrella and shoes away.

“Nick will want a nice cup of tea!” she thought to herself. So she put the kettle on the stove to boil, before running into the shower. Oh how she needed that hot shower! She came out of the steamy room in a little white towel that barely covered the essentials. She sat down in front of the mirror lost in her thoughts, just as a strong hand reached for her waist and a soft kiss caressed her neck.

“Oh Nick,” she whispered.

----------

“Wake-up! Nick! We’ll be late,” she said nudging him.

“Don’t be a bad wife Anne,” he replied as he pulled her back into bed. “Sleep.”

“No, no, no, I’ll be late for the day-care. You know how I don’t like parents dropping off their kids late. It wouldn’t look good if I am late myself,” cried Anne as she struggled out of his grip.

“Then don’t go at all,” he whispered, carelessly playing with her negligee, pressing down soft kisses on her lips.

“But if I don’t go, I won’t see...” she struggled.

“Then you won’t soil your shoes waiting in the rain for your bus,” he joked, as he pinned her against the pillows.

“But Nick... I want to go...”

He lavished kisses down her bosom. “But I want you to stay.”

“Oh Nick.”

----------

Every day she waited for the bus. Every day, twice a day she saw him there. For some reason, it was the highlight of her day. He always smiled with that genial smile of his at her. She daren’t smile back at him; she was too timid for that, but somehow seeing him smile at her made her feel warm inside.

----------

The joy of being a newlywed still graced Anne. She loved him ever so much – she did what pleased him, listened to him, obeyed him – he was her world. Life was good otherwise too, Anne was enjoying taking care of her day-care toddlers; Nick was getting promoted faster than ever at his job. He had started off as an accounting clerk but was now a senior accounting executive. His new workplace really was appreciating his talents it seemed. He had received four promotions in one year. Even though he started spending long hours at work, he told her it was worth it.

“I knew you’d make it big!” she cried as he came home with the news of his latest promotion.

“That’s why you married me, isn’t it?”

“You know that’s not true. I married you because I love you,” she exclaimed as she hung his coat in the cupboard.

He only responded with an uncertain smile.

----------

A lot of things change as time passes. Some for the better, and some not so much so.

She still saw him daily at the bus-stop. But their twice daily encounters were reduced to a daily morning encounter only. He no longer looked happy. His smile wasn’t the same. It was half-hearted. There were secrets in it. It wasn’t pure.  It was tainted with untimely cares.

----------

“Come on Jack, finish your juice. Daddy will get angry otherwise,” she cried as she pulled him to send him off to his bus. The toddler took his own sweet time much to the frustration of his mother.

“What’s taking so LONG?” screamed Nick from outside the door.

“We’ll be out soon,” cried Anne.

“Stupid woman. Taking forever. She thinks everyone’s work is as ridiculous as hers. Some of us actually make money to pay for your frivolous expenses!”

“I’m sorry Nick. I really am. I will try to be up another 5 minutes earlier tomorrow.”

“At the rate you get dressed, you might as well not sleep.”

Anne held back a little sob as she let Jack out of the door. She leaned in to kiss Nick and apologise but he shrugged her off, and walked past her. She grabbed her purse and walked out behind him.

She made her way to the bus-stop. He was there. But he wasn’t smiling. He didn’t look happy. She knew she wouldn’t have a good day.

----------

It was lunch-time. She couldn’t take this anymore. Her marriage was failing, she knew that, but she also knew she could save it.

“Cover for me please,” she told her colleague. “I have a personal call to make. And it can’t wait.”

She hailed a cab, made a stop at his favourite bakery and grabbed some cupcakes. She made another stop at her favourite clothing store. She picked out a deep red décolleté, out it on threw with her jacket over it. She then told the cabbie to take her to Nick’s workplace.

“I just need to show him I am more than just a mother and his wife. I love him. I can please him more. I'll be better. I can do this. I’ll just walk into his office and surprise him.”

She paid the cabbie and walked into the office.

“Okay so I will go into his office, I will tell him... no... I’ll show him my dress... but... maybe I will...”

She turned the handle on the door. And she was in his office. And his table was a mess. And there was a woman on it. And she wasn’t dressed for work. Not the kind for an office anyway.

“Oh Nick!” She cried.

----------

“Do you love her, Nick?”

“I had to do it. You and your demands and your measly job and the kid. I told you I didn’t want the kid, but you had to get yourself knocked-up. Someone had to get the money. So I sleep with her. Big deal. She keeps to her word. She gave me the promotions!”

She dusted the family portrait on top of the stairs.

“Does she love you, Nick?”

She dusted off their wedding photo frame.

“Why does that matter?”

For the first time, she noticed her in the background of their wedding shot by the cake.

“Didn’t you start working with her three months after we got married?” she asked as her hands started dusting to the porcelain vase which his boss had given him on their first anniversary.

“What? Yes, but why are you even asking me that? It is your fault I had to sell myself out.”

She stopped dusting, her hands still resting on the vase. She turned around and stared into his eyes.

“Did you ever love me, Nick?”

“Who cares? I’d do you all the same.”

And suddenly, just like that, she lost grip of the gifted vase and it went cascading down the stairs, taking with it its intended recipient.

“Oh how clumsy am I! I have made a huge mess. Nick wouldn’t like it, I should go clean it up,” she said to herself as she took out the broom to clean up the porcelain remnants of the vase, slowly but definitely soaking up the red.

----------

“It’s okay Jack. Take your time. Daddy’s not going to be around today to scold us. Now shall we go?”

She held the little boy’s hand and he climbed into his bus. She saw him off and walked down to the bus-stop herself. As she stood there she waited for the bus, she knew he wasn’t there. She knew he’d never be there again. But it was okay – because for the first time in her life, she smiled for herself.

----------

Damaged

By
HUDA Ansari

The sound of his phone beeping woke him up.

“I hate it that you have to work late even on our anniversary. But it’s okay! I already put the kids to bed and let’s just say… your present is waiting ;)”

The message annoyed him.  He sat up in bed, with just his shirt on, fumbling around for his boxers. It was wedged under her passed out figure. He forcefully pulled it from under her naked belly. She didn’t budge. He didn’t expect her to. He had ravished her flesh like a hungry beast. It often surprised him how it didn’t kill them.

He put on his boxers and made his way to the grimy washroom at the corner of the room. The toilet bowl was leaking and the place reeked of filth, but he was no stranger to a place like this. He relieved himself in the mucky and putrid excuse for a loo and proceeded to wash off the remains of the night from himself under the creaking shower.

The water was cold and smelled rusty, but it didn’t bother him. It somehow felt better than the comforts of his en suite at home. He stood there for a long time with his eyes closed, cold water streaming down his body, almost cleansing him of the sins of the flesh. He breathed heavily and finally opened his eyes; his one hand reached for the grubby shower handle and the other for his shirt and boxers he had left on the encrusted sink. He pulled on his boxers over his dripping member and exited the bathroom.

She had roused from her stupor and sat up on the broken chair at the far end of the room, looking out of the tiny window. The room was dark but he could see the burning embers of her cigarette.

He turned on the lights to look for his clothes. The sharp light caused her to impulsively knit her eyes and lower her face. Her sudden movement made him look at her – for the first time in the night. She had unremarkable features, her complexion was tanned, and the only thing attractive about her was her long curly hair, but of course the job had left them lustreless and coarse. One could see the events of the night had taken its toll on them too. She just had a shirt over her shoulders; he could see she had not bothered to button it up – her semi-naked heaving bosom was in clear sight of him. She had pulled on her half-ripped stained panties underneath.

He stared at her for a while and then started putting his shirt on.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Vodka,” she murmured

“I meant your real name?”

“What is your wife’s name?”

He got his answer. He buttoned his shirt up. His phone beeped again. She was still waiting for him.

“Supper awaits: In case you are hungry when you get back! Sorry if I am bothering you – I just miss youJ ”

Attached was a picture of steaming hot pasta and meatballs.

He put his phone back on the table. She was still staring out of the window. She had stopped smoking. Her arm hung limply off the back of the chair exposing her ample bosom. She didn’t seem to care. A blasé attitude was the free gift the profession brought.

He pulled out the cash tip for the night from his wallet. He sat down on the ruffled bed as he put the money on the side table. His wedding photo was staring him in the face from his wallet.

“Jade.”

He looked up at her, feeling a little lost.

“My name… Jade… because of the eyes.”

He tried to remember if they were indeed green. He couldn’t recall. Relief was the only thing on his mind. He took her word for it.

“Does she not give you sex?”

He was quiet. He contemplated lying. What it worth the fibs? She was a paid one-night stand for him. He always had a different one each time. He’d never see her again.

“She does, she loves me. I just like doing whores.”

The answer didn’t trigger a response. She pushed her hair off her face as she lit another cigarette.

“You are a pig,” she muttered as she blew off a whiff of smoke.

He didn’t object. He knew he was a cheating excuse for a husband. He just continued staring at her. He thought she looked repulsive and uncouth. There was even a tattoo on her arm.

“Why the “C”?” he asked pointing at the tattoo.

“For Chris… my brother.”

He laughed mockingly. “Incest?!? And I thought I was messed up.”

She turned her head to look at his face. Her eyes were indeed green. She stared at him for a moment as he snickering laughter filled the empty room and then went back to staring outside the window.

“He is dead. Shot himself in front of me.”

He stopped laughing. He felt ashamed of his earlier comment. She got off the chair and started buttoning up her shirt.

“Is that why you became a prostitute?”

No one had made that connection before. It made her uneasy.

“What is it to you? You didn’t come here to be a shrink.”

She lit another cigarette. He went back to staring at his wedding picture.

“I love her. I can’t not love her… she’s so perfect. But I can’t change me.”

She extinguished her cigarette and looked at his pathetic form. She didn’t feel anything. She had made herself incapable of feeling anything.

“I got in the business when my boyfriend made me sleep with his bosses for extra commissions,” she said as she bent down next to him to reach for her skirt under the bed.

“Your brother… he didn’t… stop you?”

She pulled on her skirt. “He was long dead,” she mockingly laughed to herself. “He wanted me to be a doctor. Took the easy way out himself.”

She picked up the tip money from the table. His phone buzzed again. A picture of a very attractive woman dressed in a white negligee came up with the message, “White, because it’s your favourite.”

Angelic white. “So perfect,” he whispered under his breath. A slight smile lingered on his thin lips but it was soon followed by the knitting of his brows. “Too perfect!” He was annoyed again: at her perfection, at his wretched damaged self, and at possessing everything a man could ask for.

She was indifferent to his mumbling. She knew they were all messed up beyond repair. If they weren’t, she’d be out of a job. “You know the way out?” She asked as she grabbed the tacky door handle.

He was mesmerised by the picture. His hand instinctively reached for his manhood. He looked up at her. “Are you interested in an extra shift?”

She looked at his hand clutching the phone. “I’m done for the night.”

“Okay, get Prat to send someone up here. I’ll settle the account after.”

She slammed the door shut as he sat on the bed, staring at the picture, waiting for his next relief.

The Wait

by
HUDA Ansari

She looked out the window of her penthouse. The sun had nearly set. Tiny cars were rushing past to reach their destinations. Even tinier people were gathering outside the pub at the corner of the street. She turned around, glanced at the clock. There was still an hour before he’d be come.

She went and checked on the roast. Its juices were simmering in the oven. It’d be done in another fifteen minutes. Forty-five more to go.

She picked up the latest edition of Vogue. She flipped through the pages thoughtlessly. She was done soon. She put down the magazine beside herself and looked at her soft delicate hands. She ran her finger over her thumb and felt the chipped off nail guised under an impeccable manicure. A tear rolled down her ruddy cheek. But the timer went off. The roast was done.

She took out a salad bowl from the fridge. She picked up the salt and pepper shakers and gently put some into the bowl. She put the shakers back into place. She pulled a foot-stool from the corner of the kitchen closet, and reached out to grab the olive oil from the top shelf. She five three frame didn’t help her much. Her nimbleness was absorbing though.

She was soon done with garnishing the salad and put everything exactly back into place. She glanced at the watch. Thirty five minutes to go.

She walked over to her room. The room smelt of fragrantly blackberries. There were scented candles glowing over the nightstand. Everything was in order. Except for that one solitary candle which had managed to get itself extinguished. She walked over and lit it. “Perfect,” she thought.

She walked into her walk-in closet. The maroon gown she was dressed in didn’t do enough justice to her slender form. There wouldn’t be any dress that would do justice to the piece of art her figure was. She looked at herself in the full length mirror. Her long curls just covered her poised cleavage. She ran her finger through them, stopping to fix that astray curl. She opened a cabinet and picked out one of his favorite perfumes. She dabbed it on her neck and down the beautiful dip of her bosom. She put the perfume back, and stood in front of the mirror, taking in the fragrance. “It’s… perfect,” she told herself.

She came out her room, and glanced at the clock again. Still twenty to go.

She went out on the balcony. There was nothing to look at so she started pacing about the balcony. Her breathing got shallower. Her hands turned clammy. She stopped pacing about and grabbed tightly on to the handrails. She stood there a moment, and just as quickly as a glass shatters when it hits a concrete floor, she had her composure back.

She went back inside. She must wait for another ten minutes.

She looked around for something to do. One of her fluffy cushions seemed out of place. She fixed it into place quickly. “Perfect!”

She walked over to the fishbowl on the side table. She stood there watching her little goldfish swimming around in circles. She finally took out three little pellets of fish food and dropped them into the fishbowl. The little guy ate them quickly and went back to swimming in circles.

Her cell phone buzzed. She dreadfully looked up at the clock. It was time. He was never late. But today wasn’t like any other day.

*******

He rang the doorbell. She opened the door for him. He smiled nervously as an ecstatic child came rushing into his arms.

*******

She sat there alone, clenching her cell phone, tears rushing down at the imperfectness of her perfect life.

*******

“You came home early, Daddy!”

*******

Damsel in Distress

I am the youngest of three sisters. I have lived overseas most of my life. Our family was often not a complete family unit due to my dad’s employment and our education. So like all protective parents, my parents armed us with the ultimate weapon to protect us: Independence. They taught us never to depend on anyone, emotionally, financially, or even temporarily. I don’t travel without my set of handy-screw drivers and my Swiss Army knife set – gifts my Dad gave me when I went to university.

I grew up with a close circle of friends who I still cherish, but with the course of time I learnt how to share my feelings with others without becoming emotionally dependant on them. Perhaps that is the reason most my guy friends treat me like a guy. I can talk about technology, politics, and even fashion without getting sentimental. That is where men get everything wrong.

Independent women believe flagrant display of emotions is sentimental foolery. Emotions are supposed to be a private acceptance of one’s individuality. Putting them out in the open feels like eBay-ing your childhood toys. We are not incapable of emotion; we are just incapable of losing our composure.

I have met countless men of all ages from all over the world expressing their desire of wanting to meet a hot and smart girl to settle down with. A couple of years down the line, I see them settled with quite the opposite of smart girls – not because they couldn’t find the smart girl of their dreams, but simply because they fell for the damsel in perpetual distress.

That is the ugly truth: all men want a damsel in distress. The reality and gravity of the distress of course is dependent on the faction of girls they go for. If a man likes mental torture or willingly doesn’t mind being hen-pecked, there is the faction of girls who love mind-games, know exactly how to get a guy to do their bidding, and yet always come off as the damsels in distress. If men would rather prefer being oblivious about the obvious, they can always go for the faction of girls who are such good players that they will have them playing a second fiddle to every flowery whim of theirs without the men even knowing what a fiddle is. If a man actually claims he wants a smart intellectually stimulating girl, there is the third faction of girls – which I find particularly interesting – women who are either actually so stupid that they are perpetually distressed, or who are so smart that they can even fool women of their games. There is also a faction of independent girls, but when we can have them for best friends, why would a man ever want to be romantically involved with them.

I always thought men were stupid to fall for such girls. But lately, I have realised I was wrong. They don’t fall for them, they want them. They don’t want to be in a relationship with someone more independent than themselves. They’d feel emasculated if that were the case. The so-called damsels in distresses have a twisted way of making them feel their manhood established.

Perhaps if men were less insecure, they could see independent women actually need them too. Maybe they’d see a woman lifting her 20 kg suitcase on her own not as a personal affront to their ego, but perhaps an invitation to show their manliness by offering to lift it for her. Perhaps some old fashioned chivalry can create the distress men so crave for.

I honestly don’t know where the debate ends. Are opinionated women with fully functional brains and a reluctance to indulge in mind-games a social anomaly? If so, is there a university offering ‘DIND100: An Introduction to Being a Damsel in Distress’ this semester?

The writer hates 1001 courses.

The Ferry Ride

by
HUDA Ansari

She was dressed in a black summer dress. One could see her full warm pink bikini staring out of the low-cut neckline of her dress. She had gentle features, long slender arms, and gorgeous legs. She had thick, black curly hair. Her fair skin glowed against the darkness of her dress. She was what one would call pretty in every sense of the word.

He wasn’t much to look at in contrast. He was tall and well-built, but that was all there was to say about him. His features were unremarkable, his personality undistinguishable in a crowd. He had swimming trunks and a pale pink t-shirt on. They seemed dress for a day at the beach, which was the only logical conclusion, given that they were on a ferry to a remote island known for its lovely beaches.

As the journey went over the rough sea, she sat beside him, looking around. She didn’t have any reading material on her. The view was not one which hadn’t seen before. She tried to nudge him for attention, but he sat engrossed by the view either ignoring her presence or oblivious of it.

She was bored. She looked around, until her eyes fixated on the carat ring on her delicate ring finger. It was obviously the latest piece of value she had received. She stared at the flawless diamond as her thoughts wandered off a different tangent.

She smiled as she remembered the first time they met. There weren’t exactly sparks, but it was fun. She then thought of all they had been through together, the good times and the bad. She remembered all their fights, the sacrifices she made for him, the times when he neglected her. Her smile faded as she thought of the time he proposed to her.

The ferry jolted. He glanced over at her. She was still lost in her thoughts as she carelessly fiddled with her ring.

She didn’t have to say yes. But she couldn’t say no. She did love him; he was practically like a habit now. She had been with him so long. What could she have done if not say yes? Did he propose to her because he didn’t what else to do either?

He did not treat her right. She knew that. She deserved better. She knew that too.

Had she made a mistake? Had she lost herself to be with him? Was it okay to have to change herself to be loved by him? Why did she put herself out there for him? Was she with him because she was scared of losing him?

The ferry was slowing down. The island was close-by.

What if there could be someone else who’d treat her right? Was he even the second best?

The ferry came to a halt.

Did he love her?

The doors to the cabin were opened.

Did she love him?

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She hesitantly smiled.

“Yes.”

Sober by Opportunity?

“Virginity is a lack of opportunity!”

When someone said that to me some time back, I was mildly offended and deeply hurt. How could someone make a preposterous claim like that? What right does anyone have to make such sweeping assumptions about personal choices we make? It felt like something a very close-minded person would say who wasn’t comfortable with his/her own choices.

A couple of years down the line, I realise I was the one who was close-minded.

As much it is a matter of personal choice, seldom it is the reason behind our “choices”.

Alcohol is banned in Pakistan and official statistics will tell you it is not available for retail purposes at all. Even non-Muslim residents have to show their IDs to be able to purchase at the very few limited clubs and licensed retailers. But on a non-official level, things are wildly different.

Anyone from a good family will not ever be allowed to or make a conscious choice to consume alcohol in Pakistan. But take this very person, plant him/her in a foreign country with no cameras or family members, and you’ll have on your hands an intoxicated fool you’ll be dragging back to his/her hotel room.

The same goes for promiscuity. The decent, honest men who are seen engrossed in work and homes here in Pakistan lose no time in calling for a harlot on a business trip in Thailand. We don’t even leave gambling behind.

The little known fact is everything we claim not to do, we just do behind guises of decency and morality. Alcohol is one of the most easily available of illegal goods, weed and marijuana lagging not far behind. You just have to know where to go.

Karachi hosts the dodgiest of gay and straight parties, many of them beach parties. Alcohol is not the only vice the society needs to worry about at event such as these.

I just overheard some school kids born and bred in Karachi talking about the different kinds of alcohol and their intoxicating potencies. The other day another kid was telling me about how much it costs to get into one of the above mentioned parties and how they are kind of Miami styled parties. I also learnt booze is not covered in the cover charge. For someone who went to one of the most posh school around known for its rowdy and promiscuous kids, I feel like I had been living in a bubble.

Not that I have any issues with any choice anyone makes that doesn’t affect me, it does make me wonder how effective are the moral values we were supposedly ingrained with as children. Or do those values have an expiration date? Right now, they sound like American options, “Oh hello opportunity, here are my morals!” The thing is I can understand someone with a broken home making such choices, but people from stable families throwing away everything is a little hard for me to understand.

A while ago there was a huge hype in the media about an article that went to the press written by a student from a prominent university of the country. She berated the disgraceful behaviours of students and the apathy of the management to do something about it. I didn’t want to take anyone else’s word for the article so I read it myself. And at the end of it, my opinion was made: it was the ranting of a very jealous girl who was having a hard time getting her own guy. It sounds like a heartlessly cruel thing to say, but the bottom-line is her words lacked sincerity and sounded more spiteful than anything else.

I don’t get who is better. The ones who do everything and admit it without guilt or remorse, or the ones who do everything and pretend to be all angelic, or the ones who would do everything given the opportunity but are still waiting for it.

Seeing this side of your society and then hearing that good pious boy or girl making claims about their morality and confounding people who indulge in shameful activities, it leaves you with only one question: Are they really good liars, or do they just lack the opportunity?

But that’s not the saddest bit. The saddest bit is, how do you know you aren’t any different?

The writer continues to be surprised by the society and herself.

Stolen Smiles

by
HUDA Ansari

Their eyes met. There would be no running this time. There was no place to hide.

She gave him a gentle smile. He started walking across the road as he looked from afar into her unmistakably green eyes. She had him mesmerised once again - he almost walked into an always-in-a-hurry New York cabbie. She looked away to save him the embarrassment.

“I love your dress. The colour really suits you,” he didn’t want to make it sound like it was the first time they had spoken to each other in twelve years.

“And you are wearing the tie I got for you on your first promotion,” she didn’t want to think it had been so long.

He looked down at his tie to realise she was in fact right. He smiled to himself, thought for a second before extending his arms out to embrace her.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered into her ear. He felt her skin go cold. She quivered in his embrace uneasily. So he let her go, just like he had, twelve years ago.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, ignoring his previous statement.

“Well… waiting for my… girlfriend to get her manicure done.”

She let out a little harmless laugh. “Still not married, I see.”

“It just hasn’t felt quite right… since.”

She smiled as she stared at the table. He looked out of the café.

“Do you live here in the city?” he asked.

“Yes… I tried to run away from you so I moved here, but clearly, my plan was a big failure.”

They both laughed.

“Where are you working?”

And so they started talking about everything except the twelve years past. It didn’t seem like it had been twelve years. It felt like yesterday they were in each other’s arms. But at the same time, it felt like a lifetime.

“Hey, you mind talking a walk? I need to be someplace not far from here.”

“Sure, no problem,” he said as he left a 20 dollar bill on the table. “Yes, I am still a gentleman.”

They walked in silence. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. Their thoughts were in sync. They both were thinking about the time past. Yet, here they were, side by side. Life is funny that way.

“So why did you block me out of your life?” he finally broke the silence.

She smiled. She was always reserved but now it was mingled with silent contentment. “I didn’t block you out. You wanted space.”

He looked away from her. Staring at the pavement, he asked, “Did you know I was still in love with you then?”

She laughed. “But we wanted to go our separate ways.”

He smiled and nodded. Their walk had come to an end. “So this is your destination?” he asked suspiciously as he stared into the plaque reading, Junior Karate classes, 3 days a week.

“Haha, yes that is my destination,” she pointed to a little girl running towards her in a bright white karate suit.

“Is this strange man bothering you, Mum? I can show him some of the moves I learnt today and scare him off!” cried the little girls as she held her hand.

“No, my darling! He is an old… friend. Now why don’t you go play with Amy for a bit, then I’ll drive you home, okay?”

“Okay, will you buy me ice-cream today?”

“Only if you promise not to sneak out of bed tonight!”

The little girl nodded naughtily and ran off.

He was charmed and shocked. It had been long. He had often thought about how one day they’d run into each other randomly, quite like today, but somehow he had never thought about this.

“So…she’s… your…?” he couldn’t complete the question.

She didn’t need him to ask. “Yes, that’s my girl.”

He opened his mouth to say something but stopped short.

“No, I’m a single mom,” she said with a smile.

He paused. “It must be… tough.”

“It is… but she’s a great kid. So like her father. I just wish he could have been alive to see her grow up.”

He felt a sharp pain within him. His eyes welled up, involuntarily. He wasn’t the one to ever show emotion. But that wasn’t how it was in his fantasy meetings. He knew he had pushed her away, but she wasn’t meant to get hurt. She wasn’t supposed to have endured so many hardships.

“I’m… sorry.”

“I’m sure he is in a better place looking over her.”

There was a pause.

“Has it been long?” he asked hesitantly.

She smiled. He remembered how much he had missed her smiles.

“It’s been almost 7 years. We started dating and a month later, he was diagnosed with a rare genetic condition with no available cure. He was such a lovely guy, bless his soul, that I decided to not think about the future and just be together while we could, so we got married. Happiest six months he ever lived.”

The pain got deeper. He knew it wasn’t her happiest six months. He could always read her. It wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“And you?”

“I have no regrets. Gisele was born a few months later and I haven’t looked back since.”

She saw he looked hurt. She didn’t know why. It couldn’t be envy or jealously. It wasn’t the life he wanted. But here he was, devastated.

“Did you love him?”

She didn’t have an answer. She just smiled. She had to make her move now.

“I have to take her home now. It was great seeing you after so long.”

“Twelve years.”

There. He had said it. He had put things in perspective. She had run away to a new city to not ever have to face this day, never think about the possibility of a different life, never have to see him again. And yet, it was no different.

“Would you mind having coffee with me sometime, Inez?”

“I… don’t think it’ll be a great idea, dear.”

“You and me were always a great idea,” he joked. She didn’t laugh. “It’s just coffee. I want to feel 25 again. Please?”

She quietly sighed. “There is a coffee shop at the junction of the 76^th and 19^th. Gisele has swimming classes from 3-5 on Saturdays.”

He smiled. “I’ll see you then.”

------------------------------------------

His lady love was off on a shopping spree so he was free until dinner. He found his way to the coffee shop only to find her there sitting in a corner sipping on her hot chocolate. She always loved her hot chocolate.

“Sorry I am late.”

“Oh no, I just got here early. I wanted to get some time to read.”

“You still do that, eh?”

She smiled. “You might want to get something first. This place has the best lattes.”

“I thought you didn’t like lattes!”

“I don’t,” she continued smiling. “Just order by the counter and they’ll bring it over. Quite like Starbucks, but these people actually know what they are doing, though the orders take a while but it’s worth the wait.”

He laughed. She remembered he hated Starbucks.

He gave his order and sat down next to her. “So how is Gisele?”

She looked surprised at his question. “She is good. She’s just been bugging me to get her a ninja swim suit. God only knows what that is!”

He talked more about her. She didn’t expect him too, but she liked it. She paused to sip her drink.

“Why did you walk away without a word that day?”

It caught her off-guard. But she kept her composure. After a long paused, she smiled and said, “Because we no longer knew what the other person wanted.”

“That was my excuse. I felt you no longer knew what I wanted. Why did you walk away?”

She remained quiet but calm. Her calmness unnerved him. It was beyond human. Why was she always so calm? Was she capable of feeling anything at all?

“It was a long time ago. Nothing is relevant anymore,” and there was that smile again.

“You know I came looking for you right after. But… you were gone… without a trace.” The memories still caused him pain.

“Yet here we’re, sitting at a lovely café in New York, twelve years later,” she said smiling.

“Twelve years too late…”

Before he could continue, fortunately for her, the waitress interrupted them. “I’m sorry sir but there has been a mix up in the kitchen. Would you mind giving me your order again please?” she sounded exasperated.

“Sure, it was a la…” he was stopped short by his cell-phone ringing. A picture of a luscious blond was blinking on its screen. “Err, I need to take this. Can you give me a moment?”

He picked up his phone and walked out of the café. The conversation didn’t seem too pleasant. He returned shortly looking rather annoyed. She knew that look.

“A blonde, really?”

He laughed. She always made him laugh. “Yes, they don’t make brunettes like you anymore and apparently I just got dumped for not having a higher credit card limit.”

“I’m sorry.”

She smiled as she sipped into her hot chocolate, looking at the drizzle outside. He stared into the distance with her.

“What happens when Gisele grows up?”

“I’ll have my friends.”

“Aren’t you scared of being alone?”

She paused. “If the fear of being alone had ever plagued me, I’d have led a life full of regrets.”

“So you have no regrets from life?”

“None.”

He was hurt. But at the same time, he felt happy. As tough as life had been for her, as miserable as he had been without her, she knew what she wanted and she was content – something he hadn’t ever felt. He forced a smile. “I’m happy for you.”

“I should go. I don’t think staying longer would be a good idea.”

He smiled and pulled her chair out for her. He gave her a hug, knowing it’ll be the last time he’ll be able to hold her so close. She hugged him back, her head resting against his shoulder, her hand on his heaving chest. Feeling her gentle breath on his neck, for the first time in his life, he felt content. She kissed his cheek and whispered good-bye.

She picked her umbrella and walked out. As he watched her go, the waitress came back with his order.

“Here you go sir, your large cinnamon skinny latte with an extra dash of caramel, sprinkled with nutmeg and ginger.”

“Oh I forgot to repeat my order to you. Did you sort it out in the kitchen?”

“Umm, no, sir. Your lady friend gave me your order while you were on the phone.”

“But I never told her what I wanted!”

The young girl smiled profoundly. “Well, she clearly knew what you wanted.”

“She always did….,” he muttered lost in his thoughts. “Thank you, darling.”

He grabbed his latte and his jacket and ran out after her. She was at the intersection, waiting to cross the road. She was impossibly hard to miss in a crowd.

“Inez!”

She turned around. Her eyes were glistening with tears.

“Yes, Dan?”

“Do you think you can ever fall in love with me again?”

“I can’t. Because I never fell out of love.”