He sent his father away for breakfast. It was ticking 10 AM. She would be coming over any time to the shop now. And there she was, clad in a sari, hiding all possible parts with the six yards of cloth. She had a beautiful body, one she should have been flaunting had it not been marred with red, blue, purple and brown. Her eyes showed what the clothes hid.
His eyes lit up and smile broadened whenever he saw her. And when she looked at him and smiled, his wings fluttered to fly! She handed him a list of groceries required. Their hands touched. Neither pulled away. They both knew they wanted it. It was her console and his concern.
“How are you today?” he asked, while slowly picking out items from the shelves. There was no hurry. There never was.
“Same as yesterday. Same as every day. Existing.”
She was morose today. Anyone in her shoes would be.
“You’ll start living soon.”
“Will I now?”
“Yes,” he said with a conviction she admired in him. He was the reason she had more purple than red.
“He touches you again and it’ll be all over, okay?” he asked her, handing her the packet.
He took the money she gave him and put it aside in a drawer his father knew nothing about.
“I’ll give him a week at the most. He’s a rotten fellow.”
“A week it is then,” he said, looking at her. Her sad smile spiked a pain in his chest. He knew she wasn’t an infatuation. And he let her know. Every damn day.
“I love you,” he said, his parting words.
“I do, too,” she said softly, her day already feeling better and brighter.
He watched her walk away. She was married. She was elder to him. Theirs was a match the society would frown upon.
But he had taken to her like salt to sea. He was her only hope and she his beacon of light. Together they would alight the horizon.