Love, Short stories

Out Of Love

“Mich!”

He turned instantly – palms sweating, pulse racing.

Did she see me?

This is going to be awkward

Do I say hi?

Does she still remember me?

Urgh of course she does! What am I thinking?

A dozen of presumptuous thoughts flooding his mind. After all, this woman was the one he wanted to spend his entire life with at a point in time. The thought of seeing her again 4 years later was making him tense and jittery. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of – or maybe he did.

Long black waves fall along her sides, with round amber eyes that he had always found so beautiful. Her smile was the same – slightly upturned and dimpled at both ends. Her smile was one of the most precious things to him, because she wasn’t the kind of woman who laughed easily. So back then, he would frequently crack crude silly jokes just to let that rare gem surface; he loved making her happy.

She was standing there, chit chatting with a guy – who is very handsome and seems nice. Probably the guy that she was on a date with at the restaurant just a few minutes ago, he saw them and tried to leave as stealthily as he could, he didn’t want her to notice him.

I hope he is good to you.

No, I hope he treats you even better than I do.

He stood there, subsequently and unknowingly admiring her. It was probably about 10 minutes since he stood there, yet it felt like time had paused momentarily for him. He remembered how he used to look at her while she was asleep – she was a late riser – so he would just lay by her side and admire her for awhile before getting out of bed. Moments like that always reminded him of how lucky and blessed he was; he had his best friend and the most amazing woman on Earth beside him.

He was unconsciously grinning to himself, lost in thought among all the beautiful memories he had with her.

“Kris?”

An oddly warm familiar voice suddenly struck him. He was so engrossed that he failed to notice that her conversation had ended and she was now staring straight at him.

The hair behind his neck stood, his palms were now clammy and his heart rate was a little over the top.

What happened to the plan of avoiding her!

Trying to be as composed as he can, he suavely blurted out a hi. It certainly got rather awkward and uneasy at the start, with all the courteous starters they were having. But things got smoother in no time, they were smiling and laughing – and she wasn’t one to express joy so effortlessly.

“You know, I’ve always loved that smile of yours. Are you smiling more these days?”      He chuckled.

“Haven’t found anyone who could make me laugh as much like you did,” she grinned.

It was probably a joke, yet it said so much about what they once had. Two people who were genuinely in love with the other from head to toe, from the surface to within. Two people who promised to spend their lives together, until the brutality of reality comes knocking. Two people who once swore to love each other for an eternity – they probably still do.

“Michelle… I just want you to know that I have, and will always love you even though we’re not together anymore. The promise that I once made, will always stay valid.” He finally summed up enough courage to say.

It wasn’t a call for reconciliation, he just wanted to let her know that he will always be there for her if she needs him.

That ever dazzling gem on her face lit up – a smile broader than any he had ever seen- and she gave a slight nod before hugging him.

He pulled her closer, he missed having her so close. Though he knew this would be the last time he will ever have her in his arms.

There are going to be some people or maybe just one person in our lives that no matter how hard we try, we would never be able to fall out of love with.

And for him,

she was that one person.

She will always be in his prayers, her name will always send a tingle down his spine and her smile will always be one of his favourite things in the world. She will always be tucked in a corner of his heart.

You don’t need to be with her forever just to love her forever. You just love her for how long your heart tells you to, and somehow it says forever.

Standard
Love, Short stories

Regent of the Night

The round, aerial belle of the sky shone it graces upon the vast fields that stretched across the hills and forests.

 She was at her pinnacle, the brightest and roundest.

The night too was at its zenith – the entire landscape resembled an ethereal Eden.

But it wasn’t the one that stole his focus that night.

His view cast upon a svelte figure at the peak of the hill.

She wasn’t very tall but stood lofty amongst the barren hilltop, against the iridescence of the moonlight.

She swayed gently, her arms synchronous with the slight movements of her feet. Her eyes were closed, as if she was moving to the rhythm within her – or to the silent hummings the night whispered in her ear.

She was clothed in a long, cream dress that hugged loosely over her frame – looking as pure and alluring as the night sky. She was still dancing slowly to the natural rhythm, but a slight grin now laid on her composed face; her eyes still fastened.

His eyes moved with every motion she made, with every sway she took his heart thumped a little harder.

The shade of moonlight shone on her, illuminating her even further amidst the bare field. It was as if she was one with the celestial night, and the centrepiece of it.

She opened her eyes – the captivating openings that could speak a thousand words to him.

It was sorrow; it was forlornness; it was longing.

He could sense every tinge of emotions that radiated from her gaze.

A tear fell onto his cheek, as his eyes took abode in hers.

She stopped – her smile widening, seemingly to give him assurance.

Her eyes softened, glimmering.

Then, she vanished into thin air.

His heart sank as he choked the screams of her name.

He pulled out an arm, reaching towards the one that settled among the clusters of stars. He closed his sodden eyes, swaying to the music buzzing in his ears.

The music of the night – the music from the moon.

He knew he couldn’t see her again – until the moon illuminates at her brightest and the night was once again surreal.

Remember me as she who danced under the brightest light of the night, always.

Those were her last words to him.

The last words of the one who became the regent of the night.

Standard
Love, Short stories

A starry night

I gazed towards the sky – a copious of twinkles painted across the pitch black.

The sky was beautiful, wasn’t she?

A piece of vacuous sheet – barren and dull.

Yet the tiny, seemingly trivial specks lit it up so elegantly that my eyes couldn’t help but rivet themselves on her.

I felt a nuzzle against my chest – a warm familiar touch to my skin.

A head of messy, black tresses sprawled across my shirt. Bits of freckles planted across her cheeks, and nose – which was a little buttoned. Her lips were a little too thin, and pale. Her eyelashes were a little too short – too short for a woman.

That was how she described herself.

But I saw her differently.

She had a magnificent mane of raven black locks. The freckles that dotted her skin complemented her eyes, she had a cute nose – if one could describe a nose this way. Her lips were vehement, when touched they would send a warm tingle down my skin. Her eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a butterfly.

She was beautiful, she just couldn’t see it.

But I could.

Like how I saw the beauty of the stellar night sky.

She was that night sky. She could only see the pitch dark, yet not the stars that glittered on it – she couldn’t see the parts of her that dazzled so brilliantly.

But I was the man on Earth, a man who could see everything from down below. I saw a piece of obscurity dabbed with radiance – a perfect complement of the two.

She couldn’t see it.

 But she was my starry night sky.

Standard
Love, Short stories

Fate

She took the downward escalator,

and he took the one upwards.

Yet their eyes didn’t meet, for a burly stranger stood in their way.

They stood a few shoulders away from one another just this New Year’s Eve at the Times Square.

And then too, were they both unaware of the presence of the other.

Their gaze almost met once, on a Friday evening, and a coincidental Valentine’s day.

A sudden bellow from a side alley made her divert her route.

Fate was pulling them apart.

Yet how polar things were just months back.

She hopped onto a train at the last minute, feeling immensely lucky how she’d managed to get a ticket and make it in time for the train before it left.

What she didn’t know was that she would get more than just luck that day, she found her muse – he sat right beside her.

They learned that they were from the same college, she majored in English while he in Literature.

They exchanged humour, engaged in colloquy and converse from politics to Shakespeare. They had hit it off so well; a day passed like an hour.

“Hope to see you again,” he gave her a quick hug before they parted ways.

He chided himself when he realised he had forgotten to ask for her number.

What he didn’t know was that Fate already had plans for the pair.

It was New year’s Eve; Times Square was bustling, it was almost improbable to even twitch a muscle. He felt a nudge on his shoulder and that was the beginning of a beautiful affair – what Fate had in store for the pair.

He was her lover, her muse, and she was his.

The months they spent together were periods of euphoria, yet they didn’t last.

For Fate took a turn in her stance.

Fate cut short their fortuitous meetings and drafted misunderstandings in their fateful occurrences.

“Sarah!”

He turned back, anxious yet excited – was it her?

But it wasn’t; it was her no more.

She didn’t appear coincidentally any longer, for Fate wouldn’t allow her to.

Wistfully, she was walking along the corner of the street, just a dozen steps away from him.

He stood there – back facing her – immersed in poignant regret and longing. Totally unaware of the manifestation of his longing just mere steps away.

While she too, passed him unknowingly,  with a tinge of yearning hidden in her.

Fate had pulled them together once, yet now it pulled them apart.

Fate is fickle; Fate is capricious.

Fate was their double-edged sword.

Standard
Lovers in another time, Short stories

Lovers in another time II: An Unexpected Encounter

(This is a short story sequel to another one of my short stories: Lovers in another time. I have this whole backstory in mind about how to progress with this plot of Edith and Ellard, therefore I’ll probably be writing a few short stories about this story. Hope you fiction lovers out there will enjoy it! 🙂 )

He averted his gaze, straightened his back and fiddled with the handle of his mug.

“Ouch! Shi-” He mumbled, then quickly rubbed his sore thumb against his earlobes.

He was trying to act ‘normal’, to avoid things from getting more awkward than it already can, yet this happened.

“Idiot!” He cursed inside.

He looked up – absentmindedly – and his eyes stared straight into hers.

He could sense sadness in her eyes, or maybe more than that- anguish, longing, anything associated with sadness bared in her eyes. Her gaze seemingly able to tell a million words, it was like she was speaking to him through her eyes. Her brows were softened, making her ocular even more melancholy than they already were. She had olive eyes, yet they were a really light shade of green-blue, they could almost pose off as grey – at first glance, one might mistake them for grey. But he could see the tinges of green in there, after all, she had been focused on him and nothing else for the past 15 minutes.

He was trying hard to avoid her scrutiny, her eyes were so riveted on him that it was getting more than just uncomfortable. He wanted to just get up and leave, but something was pulling him to stay.

Something about her, there was something about her that intrigued him.

She gave off a sense of familiarity, some sort of warmth and fervency rippled throughout him. But he was sure he didn’t know her.

An ex-crush? Or an ex- fling?

No, it couldn’t be. He couldn’t be that senile not to know who he was infatuated with before, neither did he got so drunk before as to not know who he laid with.

He clasped his fingers together abruptly.

“Alright, Elliot, you just grow some balls and approach her, maybe we have met somewhere before.” He picked up the mug and gulp down the remaining coffee, before unintentionally banging it down on the table – anxiety or apprehension, he couldn’t tell.

“Hey, I realised that you’ve been looking at me for quite some time. Do we know each other? Or is there something on my face?” He was trying to hide that jitters underneath that composed suaveness.

For a second, he saw her slightly taken aback, her eyes widened before anguish returned into them.

“Shit was I too straightforward?”   

“I’m Elliot by the way, how about you?” He extended his arm, trying to dissolve the awkwardness that was escalating too far- he could imagine himself just turning around and running out of the door.

“Hi, I am Edith. Nice to meet you, Ellar-” She bit her lip.

“Elliot, I mean.” She took his hand and gave a warm soft smile – he didn’t imagine someone that looked so sad could give off such a beautiful smile.

Her palms were cold, and soft and it was somewhat lightening to the tension between them when he took her palm.

“Edith? That name sounds really familiar.” He pondered.

Unconsciously, he squeezed her palm a little, and his fingers caressed hers.

She returned with a short squeeze before letting go.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just uh-” He grew red, and rubbed his head – he was all over the place.

Her red, neither thick nor thin – just about right- lips curved up, giving way to the dimples that illuminated her smile even further.

She was a beautiful, comely lady, and exuded much grace and charm – maybe it was the way she talked and sat. He was rather captivated by her, despite all the gawkiness. And it wasn’t just her good looks that caught his eye, it was something in her – fervour, yearning, comfort, he felt so much when he touched her.

He felt like he had known her for ages.

She felt familiar, not only by feelings but her face as well.

Her olive eyes, he had seen them somewhere before.

“Do you want to go for a walk? Hyde Park is just around the corner,” he extended his arm, hoping she would take it – he felt rather silly with that, acting all knightly and gentlemanly all of a sudden.

She nodded, and unexpectantly took his arm and got up.

“Thank you, Elliot.” She voiced gently.

He was pleased, he saw the anguish in her eyes diluting. He was glad that he could take away that agony from such a beautiful soul, her eyes were even more mesmerising now without that dolour.

She pulled her hair tie, and a flood of dark red locks flowed on her shoulders.

He gaped.

It all came to him now.

“Edith?”

She turned, and the mess of cardinal locks flung backwards.

She was from his dreams.

She was his lover who died in his dreams.

She was Edith, the Edith, that he swore to love forever.

But why was she here, in London, when that dream seemed to transpire centuries ago?

And Edelyn?

Wasn’t Edelyn supposed to be his reincarnated lover?

“Ellard, what is the matter?” She touched his forearm.

Ellard?

Standard
Love, Short stories

It is poison

 Should I?

Should I not?

My head was a blur. These past few months of avoidance, self-denial and running away has finally reached their breaking point – I could no longer run from this.

“Just stay with me, I’ll do anything for you to stay.”

His words echoed in my mind.

Even when I broke the harsh words to him – that I no longer loved him – he was still willing to take me in his arms.

No, I didn’t mean them, but I had to say it.

But how can I… how can I break the heart of a man whose heart beats for me?

How can I shatter his soul, when he once said that I was the one who healed it?

How could I hurt him?

How can I bear to?

The months we had together, even amidst the occasional quarrels, they were magical, beautiful and gave me genuine joy – I wouldn’t have it with anyone else.

 I let him into the inner depths of my heart, parts which I’d deliberately secured from the outside. I showed him all the shades of me, and still he chose to love me – every single piece of it.

I was broken, yet he didn’t try to fix me, he embraced me – he taught me that it was okay to have faults, it was okay not to be whole.

Unknowingly to him, the broken parts started to mend. They may call me silly, but his love was my remedy.

But I wasn’t his.

He lessened under my touch. He was getting fragmented while trying to embosom me. He, himself was breaking trying to save the woman he loved.

I was his poison.

He was craving something that was slowly smothering him – he couldn’t see.

But I did, I knew.

So how could I cling onto him?

How could I hold onto a love that heals me, yet kills him in the meantime?

I pulled off the ring that hugged tightly on my finger.

I couldn’t be his intoxication any longer, I couldn’t be his poison, no more. 

Standard
Others, Short stories

Infinite

Her heels tapped against the cold, tarred ground.

It was a chilly Tuesday evening, a day like any other – home, work, then home again. She strolled along the usual road uphill, the road back home.

A gaggle of ramblings echoed from a brightly lit house to her left. She chuckled.

She knew well what it was – an only mothers party night ‘out’. Her mother was there too, she remembered how her mother was harping on about this night for the past whole week, and literally jumping whenever she spoke of this upcoming day. A day seemingly so ordinary, yet it meant something magical and disparate for her mother. She was glad of course, glad that her mother could have a “day off” for herself – being a 24/7 homemaker wasn’t exactly the easiest job.

For 25 years, the one word that she could think of to describe her mother’s life would be ‘mundane’. Her mother gave up her dream to be a fashion designer after she married her father and for 25 years, she slogged through with frying pans, spatulas and vacuums. Her mother was a hero, a silent hero – at least that was what she was to her.

But she couldn’t imagine being like her mother. She could not envision herself giving up on her dreams, her life and giving them to a family she might build one day. Perhaps that family would be her life at some point in the future, and she would willingly give up anything for them.

But not now.

She wanted to go after her dreams – she didn’t want blandness in her life – they were what kept her going, they were the ones that made her look forward to opening her eyes every single morning. She wasn’t overstating, the flames in her blazed the colour of pure white – the purest form of fire. Even she was astounded by her own sheer determination.

At least this was what she felt 2 years ago.

But now, she wavered a little.

Wasn’t life for her now a little mundane – just like her mum’s? Aren’t they both similar, with the only difference being the version of mundaneness they had?

The life she seeks to shun, yet after so many detours, she still ended up where she always wanted to avoid in the first place.

She let out a soft sob, then came to a sudden halt.

Something to her right drew her – she didn’t notice this before.

A breathtaking piece of darkness, spotted with lights – red, yellow, all sorts – and towering architecture that lined up amongst the darkness. It was beautiful, it was overwhelmingThe city at night was ethereal, and it somehow eased her emotions a little.

She lived here all her life. Yet for 25 years, she didn’t even once notice this spectacular panorama. Not once did she stop to observe and immerse herself in this beauty. Not once, did she decide to turn her head and look on the other side – the diverted path.

She smiled sadly.

What a fool she was, she thought.

Then, it hit her.

Amidst the mundanity, did she overlook the little sparks in life?

Did she generalise her mother’s life as prosaic, without even understanding how it really felt from her perspective?

Was it her blind adamant pursuance to run away, the one pinning her to this mundanity?

Was it her own scepticism of ever escaping mundanity the one that bounds her to it?

Did she, herself took upon mundaneness with her own arms – to choose to walk into the dire trap of banality?

“Thanks for the invitation, Emily.” A coarse, familiar voice came from behind.

She heard footsteps approaching her.

“Emma! Why are you sitting out here by yourself on such a chilly night like this?” a figure took a seat beside her.

“Hey mum, I was just admiring the view from here. Didn’t realise we had this amazing view sitting right in our backyard.” Her voice quivered a little.

“Wow, you didn’t know? I persuaded your dad to buy this house because of this wonderful view it offered.” She beamed, as her eyes lit up.

They sat together in silence – just taking in what the placid surroundings could offer them.

“How was the party?”

“Well, it was fun. Something like a wild ‘Mamas’ night, just without the weed or alcohol. And substitute that with recipes and Martha Stewart jokes,” she chuckled.

“You know, it’s good fun once in a while. But honestly, I’d rather my weekday nights be spent just chilling with you and dad on the couch and watching TV.” She continued, before placing her arm around her daughter’s shoulder.

“In the end, my family still gives me the biggest joy, excitement and fulfilment.” The corners of her eyes crinkled, along with a grin that brightened her wrinkled face.

In that instant, she finally understood.

In that moment, she felt infinite.

No longer was she bounded to the fetters of her own. 

via Daily Prompt: Infinite

Standard