LINGERING PROMISES

The man had been sitting in his car for half an hour. His eyes were transfixed onto her face across the corner table in the open roof restaurant. He sighed, shaking his head slowly.

He’d expected this, even hoped for it. But he still felt some pity and sadness. She’d been stood up- again. She sat, her gaze lingering on the face of every newcomer. Enough of this, he decided and stepped outside.

Entering from the opposite door, he tiptoed to her table and before she became aware of him, he placed his pen palms delicately across her eyes. She stiffened up at first, and then her pulse leaped. A wide smile curled the corners of her cherry lips and she turned to look over her shoulder. He stepped up beside her and her smile died.

“You silly moron!” she frowned, standing up to face him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He just gave her a comforting, knowing smile. This wasn’t the first time this had happened.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I don’t need you to rescue me all the time,” she said without conviction. She sat back down trying to convince herself more than him.

He understood her resentment. They were childhood friends, and he had always rescued her. And then the idea hit him. He put his finger on her shoulder and traced the word SHOPPING on her skin. It was a childhood game they’d played since they were ten. They’d trace words on each other’s skin instead of saying them out loud. At first it was interesting, then it was stupid, but it had always been special.

Her eyes lit up instantly. “Shopping? Now you’re talking.”

He nodded and then traced IMU on her skin, smiling to himself.

“Not that again!” she complained. “Fifteen years and you still haven’t told me what it means.”

That was true, he thought to himself. She still hadn’t figured it out. He didn’t answer. He just smiled his usual enigmatic smile. He remembered tracing IMU for the first time on her hand when they were ten. she had asked if he had just misspelled ‘emu’. He hadn’t. Years later, she asked if it meant ‘I AM YOU’: some sort of poetry. It didn’t.

He paid the bill and then took her to the mall.

#####

She didn’t say a word as they sat in his car and drove off. He could read her thoughts as easily as he could read his own; her face was expressive and he’d been reading it for 15 years. Her lips twitched and he feared she might cry.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he said finally.

“That’s what you always say.”

“And I mean it,” he assured.

They fell silent for a few minutes. “Don’t,” he instructed. “Don’t feel bad. He was an ass, you’ll find someone nicer.”

When she didn’t reply, he asked, “Still mad at me, huh?”

“Not at you,” she shook her head. “I’m mad at myself- for believing him, for falling for the same lies… What’s wrong with me? Why do I always pick out the wrong guys?”

He covered her hand with his and squeezed. “Absolutely nothing,” he said sincerely. Then he traced IMU on the back of her hand again.

“Oh come on,” she complained, less saddened. “Just tell me what it means, please?”

“Keep guessing.”

“Is it an abbreviation? Like ‘I miss you’ or something?”

“Nope.”

“Does it have anything to do with the Greek letter mu?”

“You’re the smartest dummy I know… I wrote that when I was ten. You think I knew the Greek alphabet?”

She shrugged and than laughed at her own foolishness. “Then what is it?”

“What do you think?”

“Just tell me already!”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

#####

Two hours later and ten thousand rupees poorer, they left the mall. He put the shopping bags in the backseat, opened the passenger door and waited. “After you,” he gestured.

She hugged him before sitting. “Why can’t all guys be like you? Why do they have to be arrogant jerks?” she complained without anger.

At least she’s in a better mood, he thought to himself. “Well, if all guys were like me, you’d have a utopia on your hands.”

“More like a chaotic frat house,” she snickered.

They were coming out of the parking lot. He honked his horn and pulled out on the street.

It happened fast. Ronak never saw the truck coming, only felt the pain. The collision was deafening. Ronak’s head banged against the steering wheel. The truck had struck the driver’s side and the shining metallic body of the car was crumpled from his side.

Pain gripped his right arm and leg. He screamed in agony, then thought of Saara. He turned to look at her. She seemed okay, the seatbelt had saved her.

His vision began to darken. Am I dying? Is this it? He asked himself.

He saw her face above his, she looked worried and frightened. Her lips were moving animatedly but he couldn’t hear anything.

If I’m dying, I gotta tell her. 

He rallied up all the energy and courage he could and kissed her. Their lips met and darkness enveloped him, drowning everything away.

#####

He woke up scared. Blinking his eyes, he looked around. White walls, bright light, the smell of disinfectant and a bad headache welcomed him as he grew conscious.

He saw her then. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing softly. She was sleeping in a chair by the bed, his hand in hers. He tried moving his arm, but he couldn’t. There was the plaster cast stretching from his shoulder to his wrist. He moved his fingers. He traced IMU on her hand.

She woke up. “Ronak?”

He smiled a weak smile.

They sat quietly for fifteen minutes, staring at each other and hiding it when caught. “Do you remember when…” she trailed off.

“Yes,” he said softly.

“Last three days were hell for me Ronak… I thought I’d lost you.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she wiped them off.

“Hey… I’m not going away that easy!”

“Do you remember the… the –”

“The kiss?” he said. He’d anticipated this.

“I thought about… about it… about us,” she stood up and looked into his eyes. “I love you.”

They kissed. Her lips opened, partially by design. He traced her lips with the tip of his tongue and tested the thin line where they met.  She moaned into his mouth.

She broke it off, blushing. “I love you too,” he said.

“Why didn’t you ask me out before?”

He answered, moments later: “You were the girl in my Sweet Guy’s Lament.”

“I haven’t heard that poem.”

“It’s not a poem; it’s just something I came up with. You see the sweet guys always go for the beautiful and sexy girls who always chase the studs who never give a damn. The studs abuse them and dump them and they come running to the good friends –the sweet guys- and complain why the rest of they guys couldn’t be more like them. Then the girls chase the next stud and the whole cycle repeats.”

“I see…”

He raised his left arm and touched her face. He traced IMU slowly over her cheek.

“Considering that you almost died, will you tell me what this IMU means?” she asked.

“You’re the smartest dummy I know… it isn’t an M, it’s supposed to be a heart… I’ve loved you since I met you.”

__END__