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Once upon a time, an ordinary girl used to like an ordinary boy a lot.
They met under the most coincidental of circumstances- in a café near her house.
She always had brunch on Saturdays there- toast, eggs, ham, cheese, a latte macchiato and her book.
One particular Saturday, she was at her favourite table, tucked away in a corner of that café with her brunch and Coehlo’s the Alchemist.
He entered the café, taking the table beside hers, ordered his own meal and took out a copy of that same book.
At once, all walls between them vanished; from strangers they became friends.
The Alchemist had worked his magic.
Thereafter, they always met on Saturdays, each occupying a table, each reading a book, but always on the same wavelength.
As though they had been friends forever.
She gradually grew to like him; at last someone who understood.
She never said a thing, even though she was sure he felt the same.
Maybe she was all right with this arrangement.
Maybe she was afraid to take that leap of faith, because things would change.
Maybe he too.
But one Saturday, he didn’t turn up.
Maybe he was sick, she thought.
He never showed up again after that.
Even though she always waited, at that corner of that café, every Saturday without fail.
Maybe he isn’t coming anymore, she thought.
Shortly after, she moved away.
And so, it ended before it had even begun.
It wasn’t that they had quarreled.
Perhaps it was just that he was busy, that’s all.
And in the end, they simply got on with their own lives, continuing from where they had left off before their paths had crossed.
Like two parallel lines intersecting- only a glitch could have led to that.
Maybe he had once passed by the café, saw her inside with that book and had bought it thereafter, just so they could talk.
But that’s no longer important now.
Much as she would have liked to know.
They never thought of exchanging means of contact.
Perhaps because they thought it would never end.
Or they didn’t want to consider that possibility.
Maybe when he comes by again, he would remember that at that corner of that café, a boy and a girl used to talk about everything and anything- and maybe he would smile at the recollection.
But it would still only remain a part of his memory.
Just as it would in hers.
People meet to part, she realized.
Nothing goes on forever.
But it once happened.
Written on 2 March 2008, on the CNL 40408 Komet bound from Zürich to Köln.
They met under the most coincidental of circumstances- in a café near her house.
She always had brunch on Saturdays there- toast, eggs, ham, cheese, a latte macchiato and her book.
One particular Saturday, she was at her favourite table, tucked away in a corner of that café with her brunch and Coehlo’s the Alchemist.
He entered the café, taking the table beside hers, ordered his own meal and took out a copy of that same book.
At once, all walls between them vanished; from strangers they became friends.
The Alchemist had worked his magic.
Thereafter, they always met on Saturdays, each occupying a table, each reading a book, but always on the same wavelength.
As though they had been friends forever.
She gradually grew to like him; at last someone who understood.
She never said a thing, even though she was sure he felt the same.
Maybe she was all right with this arrangement.
Maybe she was afraid to take that leap of faith, because things would change.
Maybe he too.
But one Saturday, he didn’t turn up.
Maybe he was sick, she thought.
He never showed up again after that.
Even though she always waited, at that corner of that café, every Saturday without fail.
Maybe he isn’t coming anymore, she thought.
Shortly after, she moved away.
And so, it ended before it had even begun.
It wasn’t that they had quarreled.
Perhaps it was just that he was busy, that’s all.
And in the end, they simply got on with their own lives, continuing from where they had left off before their paths had crossed.
Like two parallel lines intersecting- only a glitch could have led to that.
Maybe he had once passed by the café, saw her inside with that book and had bought it thereafter, just so they could talk.
But that’s no longer important now.
Much as she would have liked to know.
They never thought of exchanging means of contact.
Perhaps because they thought it would never end.
Or they didn’t want to consider that possibility.
Maybe when he comes by again, he would remember that at that corner of that café, a boy and a girl used to talk about everything and anything- and maybe he would smile at the recollection.
But it would still only remain a part of his memory.
Just as it would in hers.
People meet to part, she realized.
Nothing goes on forever.
But it once happened.
Written on 2 March 2008, on the CNL 40408 Komet bound from Zürich to Köln.
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