Here is the second post on the story ‘the Alehandro of she’. If you missed the first part or would like a refresher course, no worries, we are not judging you, 🙂 you can find it here Of art: fictional stories
Otherwise, enjoy and feel free to leave a comment.
… She watched Kavindu confidently take the seat next to him and begin a conversation without skipping a beat. She cringed a bit jealously wishing she possessed as much courage. She then shifted her concentration to the food stained, once white tables that were now theirs to use. She brushed aside a fly that flew too close to her thirty-nine shillings meal. She held her breath and looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and flushed when she realized that he watched her keenly.
Her heart skipped a beat. She adjusted the neck of her t-shirt willing it to conceal her now thundering heart. She nervously picked her fork and was just about to take the first bite when she realized that she had not ‘prayed for the food’. Another bead of sweat trickled down her now sweaty back as remembered her father’s stern warning right before she left for Campus.
‘It is a slow fade darling’ he had said ‘you begin by being embarrassed by your faith and end up in the center stage of blood red sin that you can barely see anything else’. She fidgeted a bit in the blue plastic mess seat she had picked for herself opposite the dark embodiment of her dreams and decided to let it pass, seeing that neither of her acquaintances bothered with a prayer. She would repent later. Her father’s God would understand. He always did.
The rest of the meal remained a maze to her. The only thing she could think about when she left the mess was that they had exchanged numbers. The future looked ripe with hope. She could literally smell the walls between reality and her dreams break as they interrupted her daily routine that a short while later included her planning her life around him.
Several hairstyles later
She is confused. She has been crying for close to 12 hours and has no more tears left. Not that the hurt is gone or any less real, but it has dissipated and left room for confusion. How could her prince charming not be so prince like? Or charming? How could he possibly not see that they were meant to be? She had given herself to him in a way that she had hoped would prove her love for him. True her father had always warned her, but what did he know of such feelings? Only, he did know. So she begins to write on a piece of paper she picks from her neglected room.
‘At times I wonder how much of what I believe concerning love is Hollywood informed. When I think about it, I find myself subscribing to what dad has always said love is – 1 Corinthians 13. It does look beautiful, I agree. On a closer look at the things I say I realize that it is just something I know, intellectually, but it has no bearing on me. Okay, maybe a little. This sounds cliché, I know. Even saying it sounds cliché sounds cliché to me (I should probably update my vocabulary). But, don’t lose me yet.’
She likes to write as though she is addressing an audience. It always helps her gain perspective. She stops only long enough to blow her nose and wipe her eyes.
‘See, I am not claiming to bring a new thought to the ranging discussions about love, what it is and what it is not. I am not that genius. I only seek an outlet for my frustrations and then perhaps, some of them you will resonate with. I am not an expert in this as you may already be able to guess, but that is ok, after all, we learn with time, right? Now back to the topic at hand. Love.’
At this point, she breaks down. Even the mention of the word is enough to make her hurt. At this moment, she knows that if she could turn back the hands of time, she would listen to her father. But she avoids that thought because it can only condemn her.