Chirag Desai

Purple mist


He pretended to read the paper, all the while staring at the escalators to see if she was coming down. He tried not looking too eager.

They drove back, him in silence, her chatting away about recent occurrences with the friend she just met. He liked listening to her. Besides, he was too excited and jumpy deep down — he didn’t know why — and he didn’t want to show it.

When he gave her the tour, she kept looking out the window. He kept trying to get her attention back, even using orange juice as an excuse.

When he sat down, the only thought in his mind was to have her sit next to him.

When she did, his brain was pounding. Oddly enough, his heart wasn’t stressed at all. It knew exactly where it wanted to be — there.

He couldn’t focus on what she was saying. He had no idea what he was thinking or wanted to do, but at the same time, he knew. She reminded him, days later, that she was telling him how she wakes up every morning at 7 a.m. The only thing he remembers is swooping in. And the look in her gorgeous eyes — before and forever after.

Yesterday, it was three.

Dedicated to a certain reader who likes posts with the ‘musings’ tag.