She

All I did that night was watch her.

She was attractive, to say the least. But she was a walking cliché I had never met or expected to meet. She may not have been older than the two girlfriends she’d come with, but the way she carried herself seemed more... mature.

I did not know her name. Yet.

She was in a black and white dress with loose straps, that fitted loosely across her waist. It did not reveal much, but it was enough. Slender legs in flat open-toed slippers, a large purple bag across one shoulder, black and white pearls across a neck and her very visible collar bones. She did not smile often at the man with them, but when she smiled at her friends, it lit up the dark pub.

She drank beer.

I was working that night, so it was distracting me that she was at my table. I wondered who she knew from my office, whether she was already dating one of my male colleagues. I hoped she was not that stupid. I wondered why I had never met her during my six years in the city. Although I had a feeling I already knew the answer. She did not seem the extremely social type.

When I saw a colleague go up to her and throw her arms around her, I heaved a sigh of relief. I'd finally find out who she was.

Merin returned and I tried to ask her if she had called friends to the event, but we got dragged into hosting yet another contest to give away some freebies.

Every minute felt like a year, but finally we wound up at the table reserved by our office. The girl was still there; she had asked a friend to take off her beads for her and was in the process of tying her hair. It took all my will power to stop from asking her not to. Her almost waist-length black locks were part of the reason I could not stop staring at her.

Merin finally introduced me to her, over the loud music and beer in our hands. She smiled politely and was about to walk away when she heard my surname. It turned out she was also from my part of the country.

Fifteen minutes later, when the pub was closing and we were all leaving, my mobile was richer by ten digits.

I stepped out and texted her.

“Hey, this is Daniel. Just thought you could save my number ”. I knew it was cheesy, but it had been a long day.

She did not reply.

--

All I did that night was watch her. She was so happy. Fiddling with her brand new Canon, clearing dishes from the table, chattering with her roommate and mother, occasionally bending down to kiss her dog on his whiskered cheek and returning to another friend who was teaching her to use the Canon.

It should have felt like I was coming home when I came to her. But I knew in two days she would be gone. To distant lands, beautiful skies, scenic beauty, snow, festivals and state of the art libraries.

My heart broke a little that night, but she just thought I was feeling tired. It broke when she leaned her chin atop my scruffy hair. She probably thought I was too tired to respond, but I felt something die when I felt her. I knew it could be the last time.

I thought of the first few times I saw her – in her black and white dress, in her orange shirt and jeans, in her night shirt and ethnic looking shorts when she was unwell... that was when her facade first cracked, when I bought her medicines and chicken soup, forgetting she was a vegetarian.

I memorised her face that night, as she bent over the camera. With her grey framed spectacles, black t-shirt and red pajamas. The orange slippers she slipped on when she dropped me home. I inhaled the scent of her as I sat beside her in the car, as she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel along to a song on the radio.

It took everything in my power not to hold her when she left me, as she was sitting in the driver’s seat, brows furrowed as she looked into the rear view mirror. And when she said, “See you on Saturday, dollface,” I tried not to crack and tell her I would not be there to say goodbye.

It was raining that night, but I did not notice. I had to handle another deluge.