Embers

Their paths crossed at sundown. It was towards the fag end of the day in the sleepy countryside of the hills. They were waiting for the last bus to take them to the city. She was lost in her own thoughts looking at her watch now and then. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a yellow kurta, she carried an elegant simplicity. He was there near her trying to stir a conversation with Meera. He is always the one to light up a dull patch. To stay lone and forlorn is not in his book of life. So, that day too was no exception.
However much Meera tried to remain withdrawn, Aryan was adamant to rustle up a bond with her. She had to give in, and soon, it was fire and ice sizzling the dreary stage. Two hours passed under the dim streetlight in no time before they saw the lazily approaching bus. It was a two hours of travel by the bus. It seemed there was no dearth of words, no dearth of magic when the two souls melded into each other. Meera's soft-spoken demeanour and his boisterous yet friendly ways, lit the embers of feelings. When it was time to part ways, she was hesitant to share her contact number and was reluctant to have Aryan's too.
Meera was humming a song of yesteryears when she went for a shower. Suddenly, she hurried out of the bathroom and noted something on her diary. She smiled unknowingly with a sigh of relief – she could save Aryan's number he had forcefully jotted down on her palm.
Dinner was ready at the table. Her mind kept racing back to his sprightly voice. She couldn’t help but kept on thinking about Aryan. She wished he had called her. But how can he? She kept herself restrained and went on with her dinner. Saraswati had cooked rajma chawal – she has been with Meera for a long time now. The phone rang. Meera was on the call for over an hour before winding off with a loving “I love you”. She kept the dishes in the kitchen sink and after putting the lights off she took to bed.
Aryan had a quick dinner after his shower. He seemed happy, humming and dancing now and then. He took out his old diary after years. Poetry, he was so fond of. He felt like writing again and looked for a pen. Fifteen long years. Yes, fifteen long years he had been living alone ever since Sumona left for the US with their only son, never to come back. He never expected calls at night, but today he has kept the phone close to him.
It has been ten years now that Meera is living on her own after the divorce. Her daughter is in Delhi pursuing her Masters. How can at this juncture of life one can see the wildflowers bloom again? How can the night be a restless one for someone witnessing the fag end of the day?
She reached for her phone.