Two Hours Of Eternal Splendour (III)

on Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Part I- The Ending

Part II- The Premonition

Part III
The Celebration
 If this was the last hour I was allowed to spend with you, I would spend it like it was the last hour I was allowed to live. When you walk out, love walks out, life walks out. 

I was only adjusting the smile on my face when my heart gently leapt out of its place. The bell rang. He is here. My cheeks flushed red, perfectly complementing my dress.

I clicked the lock open, and peeked out, hiding my body behind the door. Clad in a black shirt and denims, there he stood, ready to massacre the hearts of a dozen females. Aah. A sigh still escapes my lips when I see him stand with that casual grace in front of my eyes. He is not any Greek God personified. He is but love and passion epitomized.

He was gazing at me. Unnervingly so.

"Hey." I said. I smiled. I calmed my racing heart down. Really? Has it really been five years of our togetherness? "You are not carrying your luggage sweetie? Left it at your apartment already?"

He pulled me out from behind the door, lightly revealing my demure frame to his eager eyes. He appraised me from  head to toe. I think I saw a hint of a smile on his face. A tired smile but.

"You look gorgeous. Much lovelier than I ever remember having seen you."

"Stop flattering me. I mean, I like it. But there, you again did not answer me directly. Where is your luggage?"

"You know you could ask me to come in first."

"Oh! Sorry! Its only excitement. Come in. Make yourself comfortable."

He walked in straight towards my bedroom, only pausing near the table in the living room for a brief second to place on it a pretty red rose. My Valentine's gift. The one I had always liked. It was the only luggage he carried, hitherto hidden behind his back. I see his body disappear into my room. I stand frozen for a second, a little perplexed. Closing the main door, I pick up the elegant rose, the hues of which match precisely the tone of my dress, and proceed towards him. By now, my heart has stopped racing. It has begun to sink.

I halt at the door of my room, and lean against it. Seated at the edge of my bed, facing away from me, I can tell he has worry writ large over his face. He is staring at the floor with a burning fierceness. He looks up. Its only confusion, painful confusion he sees in my eyes.

"I am going back by the evening flight. In about two hours, I leave."

He takes a deep breath, averts his gaze, and continues. "This is it. My father wants me back there. He has wielded contacts to find me a job, and expects me to marry a girl of his choice next year. He wants me to settle down and be with him and ma."

An even greater sigh. "Angel, I won't be coming back."

He returns his gaze to meet mine. His deep, expressive eyes are moist. I feel pain. I feel an even greater urge to lessen his pain.

I walk up to him and tousle his hair while he sits still, looking down in an emotion I reckon as guilt. He curls his arms around my waist and presses his face against my belly. I can feel his tears permeating my dress, touching not my skin, but defying gravity and racing up to hide away in my heart.

I don't cry. I smile. I know I am his strength. I have been, for long. I keep still for a while.

I then withdraw, sit down on my knees with my hands in his lap. I look up at him. Again, I smile.

"We knew this had to happen. We did. We loved each other, but we promised not to hurt our parents."

He keeps mum. He keeps looking at me, but remains mum.

I look deeper into his eyes.

"For the next two hours, you are mine."

Our eyes are now locked in an intense gaze. Not breaking it even for a moment, he supports my shoulders as we both stand up facing each other. An inaudible "Love you" escapes his dry but luscious lips. I draw closer to him, burying myself in his chest. His labored breathing becomes all the more palpable in the rhythm of his heart. He lifts my face up, perfectly accommodating my slightly plump cheeks in both of his palms. I cannot stand the heat of his gaze. I close my eyes. The next moment, I can feel his soft lips on mine. One of his hands reaches the zip of my gown, the ease of unfastening which, I always suspected, was what made him buy it in the first place. In a swift motion, my gown slips off and collects in a heap near my feet. He knows I turn shy. He draws me closer in his embrace and enters the coziness of the blanket to escape the prickly Delhi cold. He also does this to hide me away from the prying eyes of the fan, the wall and the mischievous mirror.

What began as an eagerly anticipated Valentine's was fast culminating into a final celebration of love. 

(Part IV-The Last Song- last of the four parts, coming up soon)