Love is ill-fated! (Fable #5)

HER hands tremble at the thought of scribbling something for him. Not one day passes thinking about the ways to express how much she adores him. Longing to see him again leaves her hollow every minuscule second thinking about it. Stargazing, sitting cosily in her home’s balcony, puzzled & piqued, fear & tears in her eyes, sweat & fret all over, she manages to scribble a few lines about the day, when she met HIM.

Just like any other idle lazy Sunday, relaxing while waiting eagerly for the glorious sun to set, SHE receives a text from HIM. Her heart skips a beat whenever the phone displays ‘Hey’ from him.

She breathes deeply and gulps, excited but unaware of what was about to come. After the necessary pleasantries willingly exchanged, he naturally asked what was she up to, replying very casually informed him about her evening (an invitation to a friend’s birthday party). He promptly told her to meet him instead, and she just couldn’t say no. She realised that very moment, she succumbs to his tone even on texts, his authoritative tone, the sense of belongingness that he portrays whenever they talk.

Told her to be ready by 3:15 PM exact that’s nearly 35 minutes for a girl to get ready but for some unknown reason, she wanted to. That unexplainable want to listen to his voice, to see him, to meet him, to willingly spend a few precious hours with him was driving her insane.

Together they went to a place, so raw, so rugged, so rustic yet simple and beautiful, and it was doggo-friendly. The place became her favourite just as secretly and lovingly HE was invariably becoming for HER.

Bun Maska, Special Ginger tea and a Black coffee were ordered, masks were removed, bites & sips were taken. Attentively and silently listening to his fascinating stories whilst sitting beside him and not opposite of him afraid to properly look into his deep & expressive eyes, she observes him glaring at her coffee mug. She couldn’t comprehend the direct glare. Observant that she was of his every spoken word, every stance, every gesture, every move, every habit, this one she just couldn’t decode at the moment.

And suddenly, he instantly brings her back on Earth by seeking permission to take a sip from her mug. Naturally lost in thoughts without gauging the situation as to why a non-americano drinker would be keenly interested in a sip, she said yes. When he leaned in, carefully picked up the coffee mug, took a sip, she then acknowledged.

A right-handed person would carefully hold the mug in his left hand in the exact manner as it was held by the girl sitting beside him to taste her lipstick, to sense the touch of her lips, to feel close to her.

For they can never be together, not in another few hours, days, years and lifetimes.

SHE can never be HIS

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