It was a sunny afternoon. My companion was still sleeping, dreaming her wonderful dreams, while I looked out of the window, observing the passersby. There were not many. A small kid of 4-5 years playing ball on the road with his imaginary friend. An old man chiding him to stick to the pavements. A woman in the next building hanging clothes as the wind blew on her face. And there was a lady waiting to cross the road at the corner, lost in her thoughts.
I wondered what she was thinking. She seemed pleasantly happy. In a way, she was day dreaming. As the signal changed, I saw her looking this way before crossing, just to be sure. I couldn’t help but smile. Then I recognised her. She was… She was my wife.
There it was. My living nightmare. My most cherished dream. I willed her to look up, to notice me. I hoped she would. Then this charade would end. This game of lies that I played with each living breath. A farce that wasn’t even original.
And then she looked up. And I … forever a coward, instinctively moved backwards. She hadn’t seen me. She was looking at the birds flying in tandem to an unknown music, perfectly choreographed. I was glad for a moment, and yet, despair seemed to raise its ugly head.
Was it that she trusted me so blindly, or was it that she knew and accepted it as a passing fancy ? And yet, with contrariness of emotions, I could feel a rage building within myself. But whom was this rage directed towards? Her for not noticing? or me , for wanting her to notice and letting truth come to light, or towards my lover, who by her sheer presence made these lies necessary?
I looked at her receding back. She looked happy. A stranger on the road. My wife. She was happy. I wasn’t.
Presently, my lover demanded to know what caught my attention. I said, it seemed like raining , as I closed the windows and returned to her welcoming arms.