In the night time they sat under the moon lit sky. The fire before them- almost about to die out.
Jeeva felt the warmth of the earth through the fine cracks she had been tracing with her eyes. She glanced upwards and saw the plump silver moon. It looked bloated, but smoother and definitely brighter. So beautiful, so calm and yet so lonely. Her mind etched out a quick parallel sketch. She shut her eyes firmly to let go of her thought. And it did go away as the sounds of the night over powered her senses. The cricket-calls, the burning fire, the wind over the lake and the sound of his breathing. Yes, of course how could she forget, he was sitting so close to her. So close that she could hear him breathe and yet she forgot that he was there. That's what she hated about him. Why was he so inert? *Roy the striving writer. What am I doing with him, what?*
He was gazing at the fire, thinking, how long; for it to turn grey? He recalled those days when he desired to hold fire in his hands. Determined, he furiously tried to grab a handful of fire but the heat harmed his hand instead. A handful of nothingness, a hand full of nothing. He unfixed his gaze and looked at Jeeva. *Look how tightly she has wrapped the shawl around her body. As if the wind will slit through her skin.* He shook his head disapprovingly.
Their eyes met accidentally as they smiled at each other. Roy started humming, *hey Mr. tambourine man.....* Jeeva slipped her hands through Roy's and joined him with some word-ly support!
**Fades out........
