She stopped abruptly at the door, her hand on its edge; surprised. She hadn’t realized it was almost dark outside. Not because it was late, but because of the thundering black clouds that blanketed the sky above. It hit her, the way every little thing hit her, these past few days. Any slight change, a word, a tone, a touch. Anything different from the routine. She felt like a sponge, taking in so much. Saturated. Brimming.
And then he had called the night before. Because he felt like talking to her, not because he had a favour to ask. That surprised her; he was always slightly selfish, expecting people to be there for him according to his whims and fancies. Nevertheless, she had always been a good friend to him. But yesterday when he joked, she cried. Her usually calm, composed self, wept. It scared him.
“But I am always pulling your leg!”
“So why are you crying today?”
“I don’t know!”
“The reason I like you is because you are usually such a sport!”
She felt like hanging up on him. So she did.
And now she was on her way to meet two beautiful people.
One was her best friend, her confidante, her soul sister – an abyss, incessantly absorbing all that she had to offer- advice, laments, gossip, words of care, of joy, of apprehension, of anger, and of desperation. And giving, in return, exactly all that, in the right amount, to the right degree, at just the right time.
The other one had been a source of inspiration until time and one particular incident had created an infrangible and unassailable wall between them. Today, she meant to scale it. And she did. Their parting hug was genuine. She had meant every touch of it.
She was surprisingly upbeat for the rest of the day.