“Do not text. Do not text. Do not text. Do not text.”
I pulled out the phone from my jeans back pocket, and
switched off the Airplane mode. I switched on my Internet connection, waited
impatiently for the “Messenger” icon to show that I had an unread message. The
lecturer droned on in the background. I could feel the impatience emanating
from my being, making me wish I could just fly over and make her send a text. I
didn’t want a whole essay for crying out loud. I simply wanted a greeting, anything
to show that I had not imagined the previous night.
Last night was wonderful. I could still see her, natural
hair pulled back in a tight bun, showing off her delicate features. Her skin….
nobody should be allowed with skin that flawless, that light. If I closed my
eyes, I could see her face come alive as she spoke. Her large eyes, framed with
impossibly long eyelashes would actually shine like stars when she talked about
something that made her happy. It was not great love or even wonderful books
that made her come alive like this. It was simple things: the ice cream she had
the other day with friends, the cloud that covered up the sun all the way from
her taxi stop to my room, the new song that she knew would be “so awesome” to
dance to. She did not seem to have a care in the world, and yet I knew the
other side of her. I had seen those eyes livid with anger, filling with tears
when somebody hurt her fragile heart. I had comforted her when she cried, her
full bosom heaving with sobs.
Last night was not about hearts breaking and dashed hopes
though. Last night was about us, about baring our souls. We danced to the song
she had recently found “so awesome”. She chided me for drinking too much vodka,
and then took more than I did when I opened the pitcher of juice to replace the
soda. She was gloriously drunk by the time we both passed out on the small
spring bed. Everything was more colourful for her, and it made my world come
alive with colour too. My flaws were beautiful scars in her eyes, and for the
first time in forever, I felt that tugging in my heart. When I woke up this
morning to see her sleeping, her hair in stray strands all over my pillow, I
knew that I must protect her. I pulled her blouse to cover the expanse of skin
between her bra and her jeans and pushed her over gently to make sure she
didn’t fall over. I got up soundlessly, cleaned up the mess we had made. I
tried to read a case on the laptop to prepare for my class; but found myself
staring at her like a lovesick idiot. Those big eyes closed but still
beautiful, her lips slightly open, her breathing even. When I realised how cliché
watching her sleep was, I covered her with a quilt and went to the shower. She
was asleep when I left, and I did not have the heart to disturb the peace she
seemed to have found, so I left her a note and went to class.
Perhaps she was angry with me. It had seemed a wise decision
at the time; I had bought her favorite yogurt, and left it with fruit in the
fridge for her breakfast. Perhaps I should have woken her up instead of leaving
a light kiss on her soft cheek before going to class. The anxiety turned to
worry, that she thought I was like every other guy. I could not be the cause of
her pain. I needed her to look at me like she could trust me. It was that
innocent gaze that got me through difficult days, and the memory of her smile
that made me grin foolishly in the middle of the day.
“Just text”
I opened “Messenger”, waited for the connection to
stabilise. Now that the decision had been made, I was impatient to send the
message before I changed my mind. I started to type, and then a text message
came through. My heart skipped a beat when I realised it was from her.
“I miss you already”
