He sat next to me, holding my hand and bag. I looked at his face. It held an imperceptible pensiveness. He looked at me and smiled in a way that only those who understood would see it as a smile. He held his lips closed to my temple as he pulled me towards him.
I looked out of the dew covered pane as we whizzed past flat landscapes, highways and scatterings of narrow houses. I touched the cold glass, feeling the frosty tingle through my fingers. The world looked sober. I felt the warmness of his palm as he squeezes my hand nearest to him. I savoured an amniotic coziness that must soon be abruptly ended.
In the swirl of diembodied voices, omniscient clocks, people and bags, we came to a halt at our destination. We took a trolley and started looking for the counter. I noticed a dog in a leash trotting obediently behind a lady in a coat, perhaps on their way to greet someone who had just arrived. Everything was a whirl but festivity was in the air. Bags were taken away. In return, I held a pass.
We went for breakfast, our last meal together, knowing that oceans will soon separate us. I took in his liquid eyes, long lashes and gorgeous lips. We chatted amiably, wanting in vain to ignore that which was then impatient in the performance of its duty.
A long queue met us at the entrance that stood as a hatchet between loved ones, those who were leaving and those who were staying back. Some for a few days, some for a few weeks, some indefinitely.
He bade me adieu, not wanting to linger longer, having an appointment to keep, and wanting to be spared the painful parting. Before leaving, he whispered, "I love you" and kissed me on the lips, the first for that day. I looked at his back as he hurried away.
