She had the smile of an angel, with her trembling lips parting ever so slightly and her head tilting just a fraction to the left before getting straight again, with her eyes squeezing a little bit revealing the intricate lines of wrinkles around them. She had long slender arms, with skin soft as white bread and the colour of freshly churned milk, and slightly wavy hair that flowed below her delicate shoulders. She moved her hands forward and clasped them together with a careful fragility as she continued to smile, never breaking out to a louder laughter. There were three people around her, one boy and two girls, looking at her and smiling back; the boy put his hand slightly against her forearm and I could sense how he felt touching her. She was sitting crossed legs, wearing a subtle white silk frock and belted shoes the colour of freshly painted wooden benches. I put the book I was reading aside, took the bag beside me and put the book inside, after which I thought to myself, “She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

We were sitting in the restaurant I had started frequenting for just a couple of months. The place offered soothing pale yellow lights which reflected on the brown wooden panels on the walls and then hovered around for a little bit before settling down in the heavy carpeted floor. As I think of it now, I never remembered how the carpet looked, if there was a design of something or a pattern maybe; even if it were, I was entirely oblivious to that. The fact that my bare feet never touched the carpet actually helped me attain the void towards that.

I was sitting in one of the corners of the room, with an air conditioner humming right over the table. I liked the continuous splurge of cold air, it reminded me of a place I never visited, or perhaps never remembered. She was sitting in the other corner of the room, in a precise diagonal distance with exactly four tables and twelve chairs in between us. I did not want to stare at her but there was none helping me; I had no partner against the table with whom I could have a conversation and between the occasional nods I would have looked at her with an intensity which might get overlooked by her. But in this solitary table, I was feeling helpless.

The waiter came to me, with a folded napkin over his left arm, carefully placed, to ascertain the fake sophistication the place was in dire need of. “Have you already decided Sir?” he asked me, with a usual smile brushing over his lips.

I was still looking at her, as she took out a pair of dark framed glasses, put them on and started looking at the menu. She put the menu on the table, still looking at it and raised both her hands over her head with a black garter tied in the fingers of her right hand. She made a bun, a careless bun with flocks of hair still dangling outside the shape. I can now vouch for the fact that she was, definitely, the most beautiful girl I ever saw!

And it is precisely at that moment that I would expect for the story to begin, where she would notice me and then wave at me. I would feel a little awkward, despite the basic fact that this was the only thing that I wished for at that moment. So, after that I would smile at her, masking the bad tooth I was having for at least a couple of months now. She would smile back at me and then she would ask her friends politely to excuse her, to what they would seem intensely aggravated. They would look back at me to see what had caused her to leave. They would try to argue with her not to leave but they would not like to pursue that vehemently, as they would not like to surrender to her mood. The boy sitting next to her would look most dejected; he would lower his gaze to the table, try to mock concentrate on the platter of food, take up the fork and then again lay it down on the other side of the plate. He would take his arms down from the seam of the chair she was sitting and then he would look at me as a fallen soldier looks at his victor.

“Would you mind if I sit here?” she asked me, standing at the opposite side of the table, taking the chair out slightly.

I nodded; there was little else I could have done.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You come here often?” was the first thing I said to her.

“I am not a regular, but I like the food here. Today we are here to celebrate the birthday of one of my friends, but she is late as usual.”

“Are they your college friends?” I asked. I rather hoped that they were her college friends, that way the probability of her not being too close to them was per at even.

“Yes,” she said, with a slight smile brushing her lips, “So, are you a teacher?”

I chuckled nervously, “No no, I am not a teacher. I work in a bank actually, a pretty mundane job after all.”

“Aah! All jobs are mundane to me. They just bind you somewhere where you are not likely to be in normal circumstances, given the choice to you and you only.”

I nodded a little, “That’s true.” I paused and then added, “Do you read Hemingway?”

She smiled her usual smile, “Yes. I did sound a bit like him, didn’t I?”

“A little, I would say. What about your friends? They read enough?”

“Sadly, they don’t. Some are not so fortunate to imagine lives around them.”

“True that,” said I. “One of my teachers in school used to call those who didn’t like to read ‘a bunch of asses.’” I smiled.

She laughed this time, a short and controlled laugh; her head tilting slightly towards the back, revealing the slenderness of her fragile neck and then her right hand went up to mock-cover her gorgeous teeth, her fingers shining on the backdrop of her open mouth. It looked like rainfall outside an ancient cave, with little drops of water spluttering around.

She stopped after a few seconds, which actually seemed reasonably longer than that, “So, don’t you have office right now?”

“I have, but this is the lunch break and I cannot stand talking office related matters in the break, so I usually come here or go to some other restaurants around for lunch.”

“Do you live with your parents?” she asked abruptly.

“Yes,” I said, “You figured that I can’t be married, right?”

“Not that, but I guessed,” she said, “Aren’t you quite old for that?”

“Living with parents?” I shook my shoulders, “A little bit, yes, but it helps cut the costs.”

“That’s considerate. But I don’t think that I can do that.”

“That depends.” I paused, took the glass of water and drank some, “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“Are you already asking me out?” she half winked at me.

“Maybe,” I said, and that made me really happy and confident, over my own impulses.

“Shall I get my car then?” I asked.

“I may wait for you here, but I will be with my friends. Don’t take too long,” she said as she got up, supporting the table with the apparent vulnerability of her fingers.

I got up, went to the counter and paid my bill, I looked back at her but she was already busy with her friends, smiling. I went out of the door and started to climb down the stairs in obvious rapidity. The security guard was sitting on a stool near the main entrance, running a hand over his eyes, presumably to tear off the sleepy delirium. He stood up as soon as he saw me, and put his right palm on his forehead in order to give me a salute. I ignored him and jumped off the last of the stairs. I was impatient while crossing the road and I did that in a state of frenzy. When I came to my car I remembered that I had just shopped some groceries and the bag was still on the passenger’s seat. I opened the door, took the bag and dumped it in the deck. I got on the driver’s seat and turned the car around towards the entrance of the restaurant. I got out hurriedly and asked the watchmen to watch over the car and assured him that I would be back sooner that he was expecting. I ran through the stairs as fast as I can, running my palm over the side railings. When I returned to the restaurant, I took a deep breath outside standing outside the glass door. I was sweating by that time, so I pulled down the zipper of my jacket and pushed open the door. I smiled at the receptionist, the clerk in the payment section and walked right past them. I was thinking where I would take her with me, to a drive past the borders of the city, to a place where I had never stopped before. We would talk about the lovers we lost and the dreams we share, we may even kiss, I will touch the vulnerability of her neck gently with my fingers. We will stay there till sunset, and then look at the stars, count them, wait for a friend who would never come back and then, maybe, we will start our journey back.

I was now standing in front of the table where they were sitting; she was there no more, they weren’t there when I came back and they will not be there ever after.

02/07/2016

Agartala.