Benedicta Anya 10 months ago

The Pursuit Of Love

I have loved her for thirteen months and five days; it’s just that she doesn’t know about it. She works at the corner bakery where they sell those awesome cupcakes, or so I am told, but I can’t be sure of that even though I have purchased hundreds of them. The mere sight of her sends all my senses on strike, leaving me with a thunderous pounding of the heart that resonates loudly in my eardrums. I am sure we have a past connection, but the thought that she will never know gnaws at my heart, making me ill at ease.

But today, I feel that something important is going to happen, and all these thoughts buzzing around in my head are making me dizzy. But that could also be because I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink – Or maybe because I hadn’t slept in the last forty-eight hours. It has been raining heavily since then, and the torment of the falling drops on the window pane is like a whip lashing for me as I sit by the window, delirious, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. It has been forty-eight hours since the rain started; it’s the heaviest in ten years, I heard the chap say on the weather channel, and it’s likely to continue.

And these hours have been the toughest – not being able to see my love – But wait – what is this that I see? A light – a faint one inside the bakery – It must be her; it has to be her… I stumble down the staircase, run through the alley, crossing the road, all wet by the rain but kept warm by the love burning inside me. I know what you are thinking – that it’s such a cliché. But for some, clichés are the closest to truth.

I reach the door of the bakery; I can hardly see anything inside through the glass. I hesitate, not sure what it is that I can do; the rain is soaking me through though I know my love cannot be washed away, and she will know, yes, she will know. And then the doors open, and there she is – my love – she looks at me– then smiles and says in that melodious voice of hers, “Sorry, we are closed” I wait for the words to come from her mouth, even mine, but there’s none – I smile in return, hiding my anguish, and I walk away slowly back in the rain.

At the steps of the building, I pause – self-ridicule makes me halt for a mere second, and I turn to look back in the direction of my love and watch her walk away, the umbrella barely doing a good job, her white dress now sticking to her legs and her hair clings around her waist instead of my hands, and she half walks and half skips to a waiting car. The door opens as she approaches it, and a man gets out, runs towards her, hugs her, and then kisses her. I hear her laugh, a playful laugh, and that laugh urges me to run towards her and scream out loud, “Not him, me. I who have loved you secretly for months… not him, it’s me” But I remain rooted to the spot and, with an ever-burdening heart, watch her drive away, and I return to my room to bide my time till another day.


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