Coffee and Cigarettes

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The last time I saw his face was at the end of June. His questioning eyes were filled with loneliness. I tried to reason that shutting the doors would never help his hauntings.

The smoke from the cigarette lit in his fingers filled the room. I walked toward the window to open its panes. I don't know for how long this window had been kept closed. There was a peepal that had grown over it. With some difficulty, when I finally opened the window, it felt like I'd set someone free. When I looked back, it was only me who felt this way. Opening the window symbolises him, memories of his love flying to the far place. 

They say eyes never lie, but sometimes people just learn to hide the truth from their eyes. But I knew he was pretending. He offered me coffee, and when I nodded yes, he went to the kitchen to make one. I don't know why I always go to meet him. Maybe I'm also another loser hopelessly in love, trying to pacify my pain by looking at his pain, which seems much bigger than me. Such a pathetic human life is! 

He returned with coffee and handed me the cup. I started to sip coffee while standing in front of the window. I felt his eyes on my back. Was he waiting for me to leave, or was he curious that I would jump through the window like I used to do when we were children? 

I heard my name as I turned back to leave through the door. “Why don't you sit and listen to the latest song I'm working on?” Once again, the words weren't told, and the night went by. Only an extinguished cigarette and half-drunk coffee cup had the real talk at that table. 


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Nidhi katoch
A silent observer in search of her TRUE HOME. If you like my writings, do comment and share... Views are extremely personal and are original writings of mine.

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