CONVERSATIONS

“Live to bless the gods of their creation.”

The quote was written on a white sheet, with plain black borders in a comforting font. Entering the cafe, in itself, was comforting. The open kitchen was separated from the table with a giant hollow bookshelf, creating a pinhole camera for every book taken out.

Houseplants blessed the place, with the aromas of freshly baked cheese, brownies, and brewing coffee. The place was lit with sunlight entering through the glass wall facing the green fields of the mountains. The air was of autumn, chilly yet congenial. The sunlight was making the green and brown decor feel like the forest.

Meera entered the place for some food, a pit-stop. One-step and she had thoughts of retiring and owning a small boutique cafe on the hills. It will be a lie if someone who is in love with the outdoors and stuck in the metropolitan area has not thought of it. Each one praised their mind for this galactic idea, though.

“It would be a crime to disturb a writer sitting on the window seat, but isn’t it unjust to keep a wonderful conversation from existing?”

Startled by the comment Meera looked up to find, the most beautiful brown eyes she had seen, the ones that are warm and make you smile from within. His hair fluffed on his forehead, so light and yet voluminous. She could smell his fragrance from a good distance too as if remembering it as a thing of bygones. A tiny nose, one of his most envious features. She could trace him, like constellations, like the poem she loved. It was Sam, she had lived the fondest memories with him.

Maybe they both were trying to hide their dilating pupils, but a fool from the distance could see them.

“A writer is indebted to a wonderful conversation for life.” Smiling ear to ear, she closed her diary and embraced a warm hug. “ Tell me, how have you been, it's been such a long time. What are you doing in these hills?” she asked.

“I have been good.. Really good, life has been a bit busy. I came here to meet a client. With these views, I happened to extend my trip and it has been worth it.” With sighs of relief or grief, he asked “ What about you with your man on a vacation?”

“You could have been more subtle and a little less obvious. Well, I am here for the next month. My mind was clouded to work on ideas and I had to elope to the hills with my draft, for it to become a book.” she replied.

“For a month and I had to meet you on the last day of my trip. Fate has never been easy on us!” the tinker of agony reflected in his eyes.

“Well, then let’s make most of the time we have, we owe it to the hot cheese melting on your pizza.”

Her words soothed the atmosphere for both of them. Sitting, glaring into each other's eyes, stupidly eating the brownies like teens on a bunk. Savouring every bite and giggling, laughing, it was hard to not notice their faces glowing as if refined by the passage of time, shining in different shades of sunlight. The hues of pink and orange bathing them.

Time had gone by easy, the hills declared the evening little soon.

“Well, I must leave now, it couldn’t have been a better way to end this trip. I am not a writer but, I owe you a fabulous evening. I guess I have been forever indebted to you and it's not within my limits to potentially repay. Thanks for letting me share the table.” Sam held Meera’s hand and she found herself at a loss of words. Meera gently held onto his hands for a second or two bidding him farewell.

She couldn’t help, she was caught in a cyclone of emotions.

The ties we make with people coming into our lives. We hold each other's hands, and start making little bubbles of our life. Of a new life to be precise. A life with flower stairs and butterflies dancing for us, the sun shining and gleaming. But we forget flowers die, and no butterfly dances to a dead flower.

A small drop of tear rolled down her cheeks and as if putting a full stop, blotched the ink of the last sentence, it felt right to stop there.

She began to pick her stuff up, the evening was turning dark, it was time to head back to her little cottage safely. She stepped outside to find a panting Sam approaching her and taking her into his arms.

“What are you doing here, you were supposed to leave, Sam?”

Stabilising his breathing, Sam begins to speak,

“No, I guess I owe the writer, the conversations. Will you allow me to Meera? Maybe you could use a friend for the next month?”

It was not an easy question to answer. The eyes might have been good dams, for holding the flood of emotions. As much as she wanted to embrace him, her mind was trying to preserve Sam as a wonderful good memory. What would you have done if you were Meera?