It was the morning of a sacred festival and the blue sky shimmered with soaring little kites of pink, green, and orange. The town folks had all gathered in the wheatish field, where the children whooshed on swings and the gold-clad adults merrily danced to folk melodies. And there she was, still a little girl of eleven, whose dark brown eyes searched among an ocean of people to meet his. The hours arrived and departed like a hazy dream, as she waited and waited.
He did not show up. The next afternoon, she made her way to the shrine, as icy beads of rain poured from the sky like silver diamonds. Her eyes glimmered with pearly tears and her voice called for his name, but there was no sign of a sprightly young boy with brown hair and gooseberry eyes. A full week passed, with her walking to the shrine and coming back unattended, carrying a lump in her throat and questions in her heart.
It has been fourteen years since. She has not made her way back to the shrine, but she often wonders what became of the warm-hearted priest and that charming boy with green eyes. Now, she just sits on her verandah each day, reliving those precious afternoons one after the other. And whenever there is a knock on the ornate wooden door of her home, she wonders if this could be it. If once again, he waited at the other end of the door with a bagful of colored marbles and shells. And each time, before she opens the door, she puts her luscious hair on the side of her shoulder, imagining him lightheartedly tugging at them with his velvety fingers.
If not today, she tells her dear little heart, he’ll surely come back tomorrow, or the day after—for friendships do not heed goodbyes, and after all, theirs was the purest in the whole wide world.
Source: Instagram | Content: Aditi Banerjee