Remember

I watched him enter the gallery, tentative at first, as though he wasn't sure if he should be here. He stood there and looked around, turning with his body, but never leaving the spot he was standing on, and I saw the pain and anger creeping into his eyes. It was a look I haven't seen in a while. He's always had a temper, which he managed to control. More or less.

A furious him is a scary sight.

He shut his eyes, as though he was trying to block out the pain.

Was it the memories that came flooding back, or was it because he saw that he was being shut out? Shut out of her life, deliberately being erased from her life.

He turned towards the exit, to leave, as though he realized there was no place for him here; that he should leave.

But he stopped. Something had caught his eye. He strode towards it. He stopped in front of it and looked at it intently. He bit his lips.

She appeared beside him. They spoke. She was looking at the exhibit, while he was looking away. She had this dreamy look, and a slight smile as she talked. But all this while, he looked away. Pain flashed across her eyes and she turned to him, burying her face in his shoulder. When he finally turned to face her, I saw his eyes were red.

He gently pushed her away and turned to leave. She reached out an arm, grabbing his. He removed hers and left.

She stood alone, staring after his departing figure for a while. She shook her head, shut her eyes and bit her lips.

I walked to her.

"Are you all right?" I asked, putting my arms on her shoulders and pulling her to me.

She pushed against me, freeing herself from my embrace. Her eyes were still shut as she nodded.

"Yes…it's just…"

And I saw the tears on her face.

"He came back, didn't he?"

She opened her eyes, which pleaded with me to stop.

"You don't really love me, right?"

"I tried," she finally said.

A tear dropped from my eye on to her face.

She pushed me away. "I am sorry, I need to clear my head."

After she was gone, I turned to look at the exhibit.

It was that only untitled photograph in her exhibition "Signs of Love". I asked her back then, "What does this photograph have to do with love?"

She said back then, with the slightest of smile, "Can't you feel the love?"

It was a photograph of a flood-lit football field, taken from afar.

I looked closer, and saw two figures sitting in the middle.

And I finally understood why she had insisted on including this photograph.

It was a part of her memories which I wasn't a part of. I wasn't in her life back then. I thought I knew everything about them.

"Hi."

"Congratulations. Seems like it is quite a success."

"How are you? I haven't heard from you in a while."

"I am doing well. And you? Are you happy?"

"Do you remember this field? Can't believe we were only 18 back then. We are old now, aren't we? Do you remember that time when you threw bottles after bottles against the wall because you were so angry that your teammates were drinking happily when your team had lost?

Or that time when you were sitting on the bench, it was raining, and you asked: why are we always talking about goals, where we want to be 5 years, 10 years down the road? I am sick of all this talk.

And then you poured the water over your head.

Or that time you were sitting on the pitch after the Cup defeat. You were just sitting there, tears on your face. I had never seen you cry. I went to you, grabbed you by your arms and tried to pull you up. I was shouting, 'Get up, get up, get up!' I was crying as I was shouting that. I had never seen you like that.

After my parents passed away, I was standing there, crying in the rain. You came with the others and you grabbed me by the shoulders and said, 'This is your team from now on, do you understand?'

'You always say: Believe, believe. Tell me, what do you believe in then?' you asked me once.

Do you remember? Have you forgotten?

Why did you come back?"

"I have to go."

"I believed in you."